


Bee's Adventures

by Anonymous



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 15:49:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 48,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18920137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Follow the story of Bee, the young ogre from Booty Bay on a journey to discover his roots and make his own way in the world. Despite his two heads, Bee defies all odds by being a completely mediocre longshoreman with a knack for trickery and a shrouded past which associates him with one of the most powerful people in the world, Khadgar.I don't know why it says I'm anonymous. Hi, I'm LGP747 and this is my first fanfic. I tried pretty hard to keep things canon, not a lot of stuff people would find disagreeable; I even kept my copy of Christie Golden's Beyond the Dark Portal open next to me. I would venture to say that nothing in here contradicts existing lore.





	1. The Birthday Party

Chapter 1: Year 29  
A single explosion of crimson above the Salty Sailor garnered warm cheers and applause from the dozen or so dockhands gathered on the tiny balcony opening from the bar’s second floor. The balcony would not have been so crowded if not for the towering, fat figure in the midst of the revelers. Some sat on chairs or tables, others leaned on the taffrail of the old ship’s prow which the terrace was made out of.  
“Wha’d ya wish for there kid?” asked a sailor by the name of Daelin.  
Bee wasn’t lying too much when he said “We want to meet someone famous.” He referred to himself with the plural pronoun only when he was drunk.  
“Cheers to that!”  
Bee regarded the balcony, he always thought it was a nice touch. Couldn’t have been easy to haul the thing up from the dock almost five stories below them, or attach it to the side of the Inn, however ramshackle the original construction may have been. The prow was unique and it gave the bar the x-factor that made the Salty Sailor the essential, nautically-themed tavern of Booty Bay. It also gave the bar owner an excuse to hike the fee that Bee’s friends, here gathered, must’ve had to pay to reserve these tables on such a busy night; tables that would normally be for the likes of Baron Revilgaz and his cartel buddies. Goblin-towns were often run by shady, intricate networks of power but one thing Bee always liked about goblins was their honesty when it concerned coin. If he wanted to have a party on this balcony to smoke rare imports, light up the night sky over the cape with his firework and forget his troubles until the next day, then Skindle would let him so long as he was paid up front. That, combined with the single firework that they had just fired off, not to mention the torrent of booze they had been ordering all night, would make this party pretty expensive considering Bee’s present company of deck-swabbies, fishmongers and city guards coming off of their day shift in the blistering heat.   
That being said, not one of them had anything better to do with their money or their Saturday night than the weekly tradition of drinking, which of course led to brawling, which inevitably led to gambling. The gambling would of course beget fighting and the harmonious cycle continued until the not-so gentle giant would part ways with his drunk companions and stumble his way to the boarding house. Then, of course he would stumble right past it for fear of waking his landlady and swing down into the massive fishing net that Jang, the fisherman’s apprentice had stretched between two of the huge poles that kept the city above the water. From here, he could easily reach the trapdoor to the interior of the house, but there was no need to stomp around in the goblin-sized building unless Bee felt the urge to empty the cupboards of a few day’s worth of goblin fare for his dinner. Such was the life of longshoremen who lived in a peaceful harbor so far from Azeroth’s troubles. Sure, the dragon had complicated things a year prior but the group’s collective drunken memory agreed that the place had not looked much better in the days before the upheaval.  
“That slackjawed rat Sparks told me it’d have three colors!” yelled Jang as she pointed at the fading streaks of red in the sky. For lack of tables, she was sitting on the low-sloping roof of the tavern with a couple of other goblins; Bee had been warned not to try that many years ago when he was still growing. The stern innkeeper Skindle almost had a heart attack when the adolescent ogre first attempted to step on the flimsy driftwood planks of the tavern’s roof.  
“We thought you goblins knew where to get the goods, you’ve been hornswaggled,” Bee’s right head turned to Jang as he spoke while the single pupil of the left gazed at the remnants of his birthday present glowing in the night sky.   
“Yeah well,” Jang hopped off the roof and looked up at Bee for only a second, “I thought you ogres didn’t know so many words,” She didn’t bother craning her neck for too long and walked back inside with an empty tankard which was in need of another fill.   
“Either way sonny, I hope you made a good wish,” mused Kelsey, probably the oldest member of the group, “because Sparks also said his stock was running low.”   
“Which must mean prices are high, surprise surprise,” Bee kept his cyclopean left fixed on the sky, while lifting a pony-keg of a mug to its lips. Only smoke remained and it was scattering fast among the temperate winds flowing in from the gulf.   
“Well well well, such deep understanding of high-level economics. One wonders what you're doing among these idiots,” Kelsey smiled and Bee thought he caught a certain twinkle in the cook’s eyes. But before he could answer, both of his heads were set upon by familiar, tiny hands, one covering the eyes of his right, the other yanking at the horn on his left.  
“You thought we’d miss this party?” Johl and Jask had jumped off the roof onto Bee’s shoulders and were now screaming directly into his ear, “Hands up land-lubber!”  
“Look who’s managed to get some shore-leave! Now the party can really start!” Geoff, another human dockhand walked to the window and poked his head in, “Jang, another two!” before looking at his own mug and yelling again, “Three! Four! Blast it let’s take ‘em for all they’ve got! It’s our big boy’s birthday after all,” he looked around intently as his voice rose in a crescendo to lead the liquored-up bunch in song.   
Bee closed all three of his eyes and sang along in a masterful acapella of his two voices. Jang had once mentioned that he had an almost suave basso in both of them which made him sound distinguished, although she had since changed her recollection and seemed almost convinced that the descriptor she used was ‘less-dumb’. Ogres didn’t often receive compliments on anything, Bee loved singing ever since. He drowned one of his voices with the stinking grog he had ordered and felt almost completely happy.  
WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW  
“I wasn’t joking earlier. When I said you don’t belong with a bunch of mugs like these. I know you know I wasn’t joking,”  
“Where do we belong then?” He a habit of speaking with his left when he was being insincere, “Is it time for us to study arcana instead of laying keel? Let’s just check the manifests and see when the next boat arrives from Dalaran.”  
“Boy you know if you want to hide from me you better conjure up something better than sarcasm to hide behind. Don’t tell me you plan on living the simple life just because of some perceived bullshit honor that you find in worki…”  
“Do we look like we were brought up around orcs?”  
“Actually, you do.”   
Bee sighed with both heads in unison. Kelsey was right about one thing, he couldn’t hide much from the old cook. Funny world to live in, where this human, shady at best and criminal at worst, may have been the closest thing he had to a father. “You know we weren’t, we’ve you to thank for that.”  
“I know you was until I scooped your little ass off that dying planet.”  
“Please, don’t let us forget it,” Bee muttered while Kelsey rambled on with the same disappointed father speech that myriad sons have had to listen to innumerable times since the dawn of civilization.   
“...and yet here you are, nigh on a quarter-century later with the same job you’ve had since you were as tall as me. A job which, I might add, looks especially silly when you think about how simple incantations like the ones I know you’ve practiced, would not only make your job easier, they could get rid of your need for a job.”   
“And what would we do then?“ Bee was still talking with his left, his right still focused on the noisy bar a few stories above, “it's natural to want more out of life but you can’t tell us you’re not happy.”  
“Oh I am,” Kelsey groaned as he lay back and stared at the two moons positioned ever-so-close in the night sky, “this place is paradise...for the likes of me.”  
We are happy here, Bee mused. He often told himself that this collection of privateers, bootleggers and criminals of all ranks represented the one place in Azeroth that made sense to him.   
Not that we’ve been anywhere else. Damn him! Right again! Despite his own thoughts turning against him, Bee continued to argue.  
“Oh but it clearly can’t be paradise for us. And we suppose we owe it to ourselves to seek higher purpose?” Bee rarely spoke this much with his left all at once, he preferred to keep at least one mind off of this conversation. It was almost morning now, both of his heads were pounding from the volume of booze he had imbibed.   
His right looked at the balcony again. A couple of ogres like himself may have been involved, wherever Goblins went, their first choice for muscle were never far behind. Bee was a rare exception to the rule, the goblins had not hired him for his brawn; but then, they did not hire him for his brain either, although he had two of them. As rare as two-headed ogres were, Bee defied all odds by being a completely mediocre individual at first glance. He was a caulker by trade and used his title as a barely-skilled worker to scrape by in the port-city.   
Kelsey never let a month go by without encouraging him to quit his job and get serious about becoming a magician. Bee was a good caster, exceptional, even, for his age. Despite his ability, he had a different excuse for not getting serious about it every month. The excuses ranged from emotional to sarcastic:   
Magic is dangerous, it attracts trouble.   
Magic is useless, I have a good life and I want for nothing.  
I’ve got two heads and you’re pigeonholing me, that's almost racist.  
There is honor in honest, hard work and the sweat of my brow, magic undermines that.  
Magic is frivolous.  
Magic is addictive.  
Magic led to the death of my family, I want nothing to do with it.  
Despite all of this posturing and feigned sincerity, Bee had a hard time resisting the use of his skills, any young runt like himself would. Magic could alter a dice-roll or cook a steak. Magic was convenient and almost always worth the effort. His friends knew that he could cast, the secret Bee had always tried to keep was the extent to which he could cast. This was one secret he could never keep from his adopted father. This was why Kelsey constantly scolded him, because Kelsey watched him grow up, oozing raw talent and hiding it for no good reason. Hiding it from the world and from himself.  
“Oh no kiddo,” Kelsey had closed his eyes almost as if he were ready to sleep right there with his feet hanging off the dock.  
Wouldn’t be the first time, thought Bee.  
“You don’t owe yourself anything other than what makes you happy. For example, this town does make me happy. I’ll never want for entertainment, I’ll never be cold and if I’m chasing after some bullshit honor then the next Bloodsail raid is never too far away. I don’t really want a sense of purpose or a higher calling but I can pretend to contemplate it looking at the sun set over the water. I’ve got everything I could want. Son, but I see something missing when you smile.”  
“Maybe there is, how would we know…”  
“I think you do know but finding out is what you owe to yourself.”  
“So give up everything we have and go off to blindly seek purpose? Doesn’t seem like a deal our little green friends would entertain. And we trust their business sense.”  
“Give up everything? You mean your promising career as a drunk longshoreman?”  
“There is some good that comes of what we do, no good comes of magic. We’ll only attract people more powerful than ourselves,” Another thing Bee had often told himself was that he hated magic based on his past. That he didn’t want any trouble to come of it when it was clear that it was his own ego getting in the way of his development. Either way, despite the lies he told himself and the rest of the world, he continued to advance throughout his childhood, into adolescence and beyond; his talent for magic akin to a rabid dog whose sadistic master let the leash slip from his hands, wondering whether it was truly intentional or not, pretending every step of the way.  
Kelsey knew all this of course, but he also knew that the towering figure was still no more than a child. His own father had often said, ‘Age is just numbers, especially when you're stupid!’ Looking back, Kelsey could admit to himself that this was at times when he needed a good whooping, for he had been irresponsible all throughout his life.   
Bee was the same.   
All kids were the same.   
Except that nobody in the city could give Bee the good whooping that he needed, not even the other ogres. The kid was in the prime of his youth and his hypocritical simultaneous knowledge and contempt of magic meant that he had to learn how to fight if he wanted to make sure he was never in a position where his back was to the wall and he would have to risk revealing the extent of his skills. That and there was his love for gambling and pit-fighting.  
“Some good can come of magic,” smiled Kelsey as he waved his empty tankard suggestively, Bee regarded it, blinked his great left eye and it refilled with grog.   
“There’s a boy!” Smiled Kelsey, he gulped down some of it and winced. Try as he might, Bee couldn’t compete with orc grog.  
“Besides, what you owe to yourself was never going to be my selling point here kid.”  
“We’ve saved you from enough deaths, and we owe no one else.”  
No sooner had he said it when the tavern door slammed open and a rising storm of laughter rose up from the bar three stories above their heads as a group of patrons left, their incoherent shanties overpowered only by the ominous creaking of the entire wooden platform. With a grin, Kelsey pointed up.  
“You owe it to every one of your mates dummy. They have families to feed, they have responsibility and duty. If any of them could do what you do…but we can’t. But you can. Give them something to cheer for besides barfights. Let us see you succeed and be inspired by the knowledge that one of our own made it up there.”  
“You make some good points old man.”   
“Course I do boy I’m your daddy.”  
“We’ve wanted to leave for a few years now.”  
“Yeah right.”  
“It’s true.”  
“What’re you waiting for, a sign?”  
“More or less, We’ve been waiting for some news.”  
“Go make the news.”  
“Maybe we will.”  
“Don’t worry I won’t bother you about it too much more. Like I said, this place is paradise for me so, I’m happy. But if you stick around much longer I’ll be forced to think you’ve fallen in love with Jang. Then I gotta start talking to her father about a dowry…”  
“Funny. Let’s not spill those beans quite yet.”


	2. Hard Task for the Midwife

Chapter 2: Three years before the opening of the Dark Portal  
Hurried footsteps echoed up the many stairs of the central spire of Shattrath City. The cloaked figure ascending with such haste carried a heavy pack of crude medical supplies, mostly rags and herbal painkillers which would surely prove insufficient for the task ahead. Two voices howled in pain just above her.  
One more flight.  
She rushed up the last few stairs to a balcony which led around the spire, to a tall doorway with two guards practically dripping in sweat. The joy on their faces was clear, the arrival of the midwife meant that neither of them had to help in bringing a child into the world, a lowly task reserved for women in the newly unified Horde. Prideful as these guards may have been, they would have had to get their hands dirty had she not arrived, for the baby in question was far too important to risk the wrath of the father. This explained the sigh of relief they let out when she appeared in the doorway, though the bigger one quickly shook off the humbling emotion and started berating her.  
“Get to work, wench!”  
The voice of the guard echoed in the desecrated hall, but paled in comparison to the cries of the Ogress lying on the table, who was now well over an hour into labor. The clamor doubled when the ogre opened her second mouth to howl from the contractions. The midwife ignored the shouting of the orc as she entered and hurriedly unpacked beside the bellowing giant, preparing two rolls of leather, one for each of the mouths to bite down on. She then removed a blanket of a swaddling cloth for what would surely be a sizeable infant.   
“What could possibly excuse this delay? Speak!” The imposing orc had to scream for the midwife to hear him, but she calmly ignored him and continued examining the condition of the soon-to-be mother.   
She turned towards a calmer guard by the doorway, “Fetch water!” then whirled around on the loud one behind her. Having finally regarded the oaf, she quickly discerned the reason for his outrage. The runic insignia on his tabard marked him as a member of the Shadow Council. Not a warlock, surely, but a bodyguard. As the other ran to find a bucket, she noted that he bore no such insignia. Doubtless, if there were to be any complications during the birth of this child, the father would visit his wrath on somebody and it was likely that the personal bodyguard would end up bathed in felfire. The presence of the other guard, an average Horde warrior, and the midwife was almost purely coincidental; neither one of them had to answer directly to a member of the Shadow Council’s innermost circle.  
“Delay? You call me to a war-zone, the center of a siege only days old and you wonder why there is no midwife on hand? This city has not even been swept of the Draenei yet, so keep watch on the door to make sure no stragglers enter this room! We both know which one of us will have to answer to the Inciter if something were to go awry.” she didn’t gesticulate, as her hands were busy with a mortar and pestle in which she ground up the special mix of plants so as to catalyze their tranquilizing effects.   
The staring contest only lasted a moment, she was surprised and relieved to see him grunt and mutter some curse under his breath before turning to walk back to the door.  
That was easier than I thought, she mused as she turned back to her patient and fumbled in her knapsack for a salve of soothing properties. As the bellows of the ogress abated slightly, her pride got the better of her and she rebuked the guard again, “I needn’t tell you whose child this is, or whose hide will be flayed by the Inciter if the birth didn’t go as smoothly as possible!”  
He first guard had returned with water and the midwife soaked rags to place on each of the two sweat-soaked foreheads. The contraction had receded and the sedatives were working as well as they could on the massive body of the ogre. The tension in the room was still high but the shouting had calmed down. The midwife and her patient had a moment to appreciate their surroundings.   
The room was luxurious but ransacked, almost everything in it had been broken save for the table which the midwife only prayed would hold the weight of her patient. Two streaks of shimmering, blue blood glistened on the floor leading from the back of the room out through the doorway, where the Horde warriors had obviously dragged the corpses of the slain Draenei and thrown them over the balcony. The scene was as savage as the verdant canopy of Terrorkar forest was serene, this was the scene visible through the doorway to the balcony, as the room was just high enough on the spire to hide the burning city from view.   
The midwife lost track of time throughout the process. She cradled the left head of the ogress as she replaced the rag on it, making sure that she was focused on the lush forest landscape, intermittently obscured by billowing clouds of smoke. The other head had passed out.   
“The guard had something to fear indeed if the father had thought the birth of his child so important as to drag the mother on the verge of labor into a besieged city,”  
“I don’t blame the father,” said the ogre’s left in a raspy voice, “his firstborn means a lot to him.”  
“So where is he now?”  
“Killing, I imagine. Why should he be present for the birth, when he can return in a day when my screaming is sure to be over with.”  
Silence fell for another minute, the Shadow Council guard interrupted it.  
“Indeed, he is killing, but not in this city,” he nodded at the midwife, “When he left it was with the other warlocks, tracking the filthy Draenei cowards to the Auchindoun, so he told me before he left and hung the life of the child on my head,” The guard pointed to a huge, low dome protruding from the forest canopy in the distance. The midwife couldn't blame the Shadow Council guard for attempting to make conversation, but she hissed when he explained to the ogre her mate’s whereabouts. Surprisingly the ogress found this almost comforting.  
“This is well, I can see where he is…”  
She was interrupted by another contraction, the midwife shooed the guard away who needed no encouragement to walk back out on the balcony. The spire once again filled with the cries of the mother-to-be.  
So passed the hours.  
WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW  
The painkillers were long gone by the time the child was born. The screams of the two little heads filled the chamber as the midwife swaddled him and handed him to the exhausted mother, whose single conscious head beamed at her baby with one tearful eye.   
“He’s beautiful, he’s so beaut…”  
That was when the Auchindoun exploded.  
The dome rising from the serene forest canopy had been shattered by some unseen wave which seemed to originate from within. It was hard to tell, all anyone could see from the balcony was a colossal cloud of ash expanding from the center.  
The guards turned to behold the appalling sight, “By Kash’drakor’s axe, what is that?”  
The midwife hurried to shut the door.


	3. Ruminations

Chapter 3:  
The conversation with Kelsey lingered on Bee’s mind for hours. Having been brought up in this den of thieves, Bee had learned how to lie and cheat. He always had two good poker faces and could keep a couple of secrets, but the old man saw through everything.   
Among the secrets that Bee did manage to keep was his real job. Two-headed ogre-magi were in high demand in arena fighting and Bee had spent many years as a low-level gatekeeper in the fighting rings in the city as well as the illicit one to the north of town. Interestingly, Bee’s proficiency with magic was not what made him a favorite of the organizers; more importantly, he was a master of making his abilities seem much more powerful and dangerous than they were. It would seem that his knack for trickery translated into many things, he could pull punches as well as he could dazzle the crowd with a rather harmless spell. He had a talent for subterfuge that fooled spectators just enough to seemingly tip the odds and allow his bosses to make a killing on bets. In a word, he would take a dive when he was told, but he was paid fairly.   
Among the failed attempts at subtlety was the fact that he did fit right in with the stereotype about two-headed ogre magi. His greatest challenge in the arena was not making a harmless spell excite the onlookers; it was making an actually dangerous spell power down to the level of harmlessness while keeping its look. Bee had learned how to pull his punches both physically and magically.   
He was a good caster, hell, he had been brought up to become a member of the Shadow Council. But that was something he did not like thinking about. It was the same way with magic in general. Bee had lived his life as if he wanted to reject this calling. That was why he worked among the shipwrights in this backwater, among people who only knew steel and gold.   
Of course, having a natural talent for incantation was a hard thing to resist, even when the decision to resist the urge was fueled by teenage angst. This meant that he did practice casting, every day in fact. But the image he had always projected, the romantic idea of being a drunk longshoreman meat that he couldn’t let anyone know that he could conjure mystic bolts to fire into the water when he wanted to make sharkfin soup. All this resulted in a rather confusing young ogre mage, one who hated magic due to his past, used it anyway due to his own laziness, but kept it a secret due to his ego.  
Another secret Bee had managed to keep was the one goal he did have. The one purpose to his life which haunted him due to its impossibility.  
Revenge.  
But unfortunately, the one Bee wished to exact vengeance upon was out of his reach. The murderer got away with it and there was nothing Bee could do.  
As Kelsey understood the full extent of many of Bee’s secrets, Bee was certain that Kelsey knew that the news he had been waiting for his whole life had already arrived two years prior.  
The port city had gone crazy with business when a demon lord had apparently attacked Stormwind. Bee couldn’t help but to feel elated when he was told that the sudden aggression had resulted from no less that the reopening of what was known as the Dark Portal, the way back to his homeworld. The one gateway that could bring him to, who knows what.   
Indeed, despite every effort he made to remain the drunk longshoreman, Bee had felt the call to adventure much like any restless youth. He had spent enough of his days brawling with every last soul in the port town, few of the travelers that he managed to goad into a round of fisticuffs could entertain him for long. He had spent enough of his evenings on the shore outside of town targeting fish with shockwaves of energy, he wanted real targets. And most of all, he had spent all too many nights wondering about his past, a small collection of memories, most of them unpleasant.  
The confusing part was how Kelsey pushed him to take on an adventure in order to become more than what he was now, but when the opportunity presented itself with the reopening of the Dark Portal, he didn’t seem to like the idea. The old man had begun drinking heavily when the portal opened and never really stopped afterward, no matter how much Bee tried to convince him that he wouldn't leave him for some dangerous vacation into the unknown. The young ogre was tortured by how convinced Kelsey was with Bee’s intention to leave, the feeling kept him here for two years but it wouldn’t keep him for much longer. There came a time for him to spread his wings and one worried parent wasn’t going to stop him.   
He knew that he wanted to go but he sure didn’t know what to expect. Would he find a place that he truly felt like he belonged? Would he even recognize any of it?   
And above all those difficult questions loomed a rather simple one, would he be able to sell his treasure for a good price?  
As he lay in his hammock, Bee’s right muttered a series of words in an ancient tongue and his psyche travelled to a hidden place where he had stored his treasure. The words were a key to a lock of his own design, and from within this mental safe, he removed the one thing of value in his possession. When he opened his eyes, the shimmering, pale-blue object rested in his palm.   
Another closely guarded secret that only Kelsey was privy to was this...thing. Try as he might, Bee couldn’t quite discern just what it was, but he knew it was worth a fortune. Many things reassured him of this assumption. The power Bee himself had gained from it, the eldritch nature of its magical properties which as far as Bee could tell did not relate to fire or water or light or undeath. The beauty of its glow and shapeless form, its slowly shifting facets. But most of all, the truth of where it came from, of who...or what it came from.  
Hot and humid winds brushed his massive arm as he lay in the hammock beneath the boardinghouse, wind that seemed to have no effect on the strange smoke that seemed to come off of the thing. Nor could the howl of any gale overpower the soft hum of the object, barely discernible now in the silence that surrounded him. It was a mystery and Bee had decided when the portal opened that it was a mystery for someone else to solve. One thing was for certain, it had been a valuable asset to his magical studies but Bee could learn no more from it. And since it came from his faraway planet, he doubted that anyone on Azeroth could possibly put a fair price on it. But someone, somewhere in Outland could, that price was Bee’s birthright.  
He could have left two years ago when news of the portal’s reopening first arrived but Outland was a war zone then, or so he told himself among many lies similar to his self-deception about magic.  
Best to wait until things calm down a bit out there.  
I’ve no idea what I’m selling, which means I’ll get swindled out of a good price.  
I’ve no idea who is buying, I’m as likely to get mugged as anything else.  
Maybe I should keep it after all….  
Another annoying voice in his heads kept telling him that maybe Kelsey was right and he was too lazy to seize destiny when it was right in front of him. Right in the palm of his hand. As he mused, a white mist with the softest green tint enveloped the shifting polyhedron. The fog grew to envelop his hand. His fingers clasped it and he felt the aberrant magical energies fill him...  
Over the noise of the wind, Bee heard the creaking of the platform above and the soft footsteps approaching. With a whisper, he locked his treasure away in its vault and tried to look as idle as possible by the time he heard Jang’s familiar voice.


	4. Gul'dan's Shadow Council

Chapter 4:  
During the years of the old Horde’s war against the Draenei, the Shadow Council was busy destroying the planet with many different projects. Chief among these, of course, was the portal. Its construction was crucial to the ultimate plans of Gul’dan. But as warlocks were prone to hunger for power, and orcs were prone to hate sitting idly, other vile works had to be put in place. These included the destruction of the planet and its peoples.  
One could look at the rise of the Horde as a distorted population curve. The orcs experienced an unnaturally large baby boom during the war against the Draenei, as a result of the warlocks’ magics which were used to age children into adulthood. Under such conditions, one such race would have easily asserted itself as the dominant species on the planet even without the urging of distant, demonic masters. As it happens, the hatred that these demons harbored for the Draenei, their long-lost brethren, spurred the violent destruction of these people across the Draenor from Karabor to Shattrath.  
With one genocide over and done with, the orcs turned their attention to the other species rivalling their power. Despite generations of rivalry, the orcs must have felt kinship with the ogres, as the war with the Gorian Empire resulted in the ogres joining the Horde years prior. But others would not be so lucky. The Arakkoa, deep in the midst of their own internal struggles, were played against each other by the Horde until the only remaining members of the species were flightless and humiliated, then forced into hiding. The Horde made sure that they had no possible enemies on Draenor before the portal opened.  
This process of conquest came hand in hand with the transformation of Draenor’s lands. The orcs worked hard at the construction of strongholds such as Zeth’kur, home of the Horde fleet, and the already massive Hellfire Citadel, which would grow to dominate the landscape with battlements stretching from the northern mountains to the devouring sea in the south. Other scars on the landscape included the creation of the fel volcano now known as the Hand of Gul’dan which brought forth Draenor’s firelord, Cyrukh, who was subsequently bound by the Shadow Council, forever severing the world from the Elements. Yet another blow to the harmony of the planet’s wilds was the admittedly accidental devastation of Terokkar Forest.  
This was where Blackheart the Inciter was sent along with fellow council member Teron’gor in pursuit of the Draenei exarch who had led civilians past the Horde siege camps via tunnels. During the battle there, the warlocks attempted to summon a demon but ended up calling something much more fearsome into existence. As a result, the massive ‘city of the dead’ had exploded, leaving a crater and raining bone dust on several miles of the surrounding forest. The Shadow Council warlocks, having somehow survived the devastation, managed to bind the eldritch creature they had called forth so as to prevent any danger to the Horde and subsequently returned to their master.   
Gul’dan was less than understanding.  
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“And you just left it there?”  
“The creature is subdued, we didn’t want it causing problems for the Horde,” Teron’gor, normally a fearsome presence that commanded respect, seemed rather pale before the fury of his master.  
“Well it is a problem Gorefiend, it is a very big blasted problem!” Gul’dan paced up and down the central hall in Shattrath. The whole of the Shadow Council was called to gather before him, even his former master Ner’zhul. The old shaman’s spirit had been broken and the war he sought to prevent was over. Now he wallowed in bitterness but he did as his former pupil commanded, ‘For the good of our people, I will save them from the doom you’ve orchestrated’. Gul’dan cared not. Let the old fool stick to his shamanistic traditions, let him attempt to conjure water from rock. Gul’dan has ambitions elsewhere.  
But the shaman and most of the council members had not arrived yet. Before Gul’dan addressed the full council concerning the end of the war, he would unleash his ire on the warlocks he had sent to Auchindoun.  
“I expect this from the ogre but you are my left hand! You were to bring a clean end to their race and instead you give me this, this bomb! And the worst part is that I cannot give you the punishment you deserve because I have need of you yet and soon. But you,” Gul’dan turned to the ogre, “ridiculous creature, you will find a way to fix this if it kills you!”  
“Yes, master.” One of Blackheart’s faces showed a bit of fear; piercing black eyes suddenly widening as Gul’dan’s hunched frame, barely reaching the ogre’s loincloth, approached with eyes aflame.  
“Silence, you imbecile! I allowed you and your people to join me, such as they are and you fail me?” A bolt of shadow escaped the orc’s hands and struck Blackheart in the chest. The ogre wavered, but held his ground.  
“I teach you my arts, and you can’t manage to bend a summoned demon to your will?” Another bolt struck him in the left head, chipping his horn.   
“Useless!” With a wave of his hand, the orc knocked the giant off of his feet and bound his arms to the floor. Other council members retreated so that the massive body of Blackheart would not squish them on its way down, “You will return to Auchindoun and make yourself comfortable, because you won’t leave until the beast is ours!”  
Apparently finished with spells, Gul’dan proceeded to kick the ogre repeatedly but it didn’t take long until his own legs grew tired. For all his power, the old warlock was frail of body. Blackhand stepped forth and put one massive arm in from of his master, beckoning him to cease, before delivering a steel-toed kick of his own to the ogre’s right head. The rest of the conclave stared in silence while all of this was happening; Gul’dan’s taste for public punishment of his underlings was well-known, a practice that dated back to his succession of the master shaman, Ner’zhul. Over the course of the war with the Draenei, Gul’dan hadn’t been able to go more than a few months at a time without taking out his frustration on some unlucky council member for this or that.  
Gul’dan signaled a guard to open the doors and usher everyone out, not even turning around to say, “Go with him, Vorpil. He is bound to fail me again somehow!”  
The old Thunderlord warlock was stunned for a moment but didn’t say a word, kneeling in acceptance of his master’s orders before leaving to prepare for the journey and the task ahead.  
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By the time Blackheart returned to his quarters, he had trouble seeing with one eye due to the swelling.   
“Sadists!” His mate had exclaimed when he walked in but he silenced her.  
“The old gremlin underestimates the thickness of my hide. Besides, I’ll not have my problems troubling my child,” he was a picture of unusual grace when he stepped within a few feet of his son’s crib. The child was sleeping, one head sucking a thumb while the other drooled on the straw pillow. Blackheart was pleased with his two-headed family, the odds were astronomical but for him, anything less would have been unacceptable. This child was one of prophecy, he would be a council initiate before he reached adulthood.  
He looked at his mate for a long time as she disappeared into the next room to fetch a salve which she then began applying to his swollen eye. She finally interrupted the silence, “What was it like? The explosion?”  
He had sat down on one of the massive chairs that had been brought to the spire specifically for his family. Not many ogres dwelt in orc company besides the three of them. Gul’dan and Ner’zhul each had ogre apprentices but of course neither had families. Blackheart had never liked any of them. Cho’gall was an exile and an opportunist who had cozied up to Gul’dan and reaped the benefits of his master’s position. Vim’gol was disloyal. O’mrogg was a simpleton. Dentarg wasn’t even a warlock, not to mention the oaf’s one head! He was the simplest of ogres and Blackheart had never understood why Gul’dan gave him and his shaman master a seat at the table, insignificant as their seats were. For those of his kin that were part of the Horde but not of the council, there was no place in the citadel. Allegiance here or there, the orcs simply did not like ogres and preferred that the horde wasn’t fully integrated, with ogre cohorts marching and setting up camp separately. Nevertheless, individuals of power like himself could not be denied a place in the highest towers. Answering directly to Gul’dan was a gift and a curse.   
“It was chaos,” he recalled to her the tale of what had happened to him and Teron’gor in the tunnels beneath the city of the dead. How their quarry was nearly cornered when the restless spirits of the dead were set upon the warlocks. The fighting was long and bloody, as the phantoms of the Draenei, whose blades cut through flesh as easily as any real blade, fought the Horde warriors whose steel could cause them no harm with undying stamina. The warlocks knew that they could not outlast this new enemy. The idea to summon a demon seemed logical, as the warlocks could use an ally that could fight the incorporeal foes. They had done this so many times before, the beings they called upon were of flame and shadow, surely a match for these spirits. So the few of them had combined their powers and fed them into Teron’gor in the central chamber of the maze that the accursed Exarch had led them into.   
What happened next was inexplicable.  
“A towering figure of blinding white light had materialized before us, its body a churning cyclone of energies alien even to us. Neither, shadow, nor flame, nor any of the magics I’m familiar with. I’ve not seen its like in my days as a warlock of the council, or a mage of Highmaul. It was just, huge.”  
“What did it do?”  
“That's the thing,” he murmured, “It, it assembled before us, its body coalesced from nothingness and as soon as it achieved form…” Blackheart raised his hands and gesticulated to convey that the explosion followed.  
“How did you survive?” The horrifying image of the exploding dome flashed through her mind. For days, the group was believed to be lost before they returned to Shattrath. When they did, Blackheart sought out his mate and dismissed all of her initial questions, focusing instead on making sure that his son had two heads before he was summoned to his master’s side.   
“As it turned out, the whole situation was not as bad as it seemed.” Blackheart leaned back in his chair and began fumbling with one of his long braids. Not many ogres wore such adornments but he had always valued being a warrior as much as he did being a warlock, “You know as well as I that we have a sixth sense when it comes to magic. We can smell it from a distance and discern much. Having sensed the potential energies building up around the...thing, we had just enough time to conjure a barrier before the earth started shaking around us. It was clear that whatever we had summoned was definitely not under our control. Another lucky thing I could smell was that although this creature had formed a body, the full extent of its power was still distant. It made not a move and so we took our chance and struck. With each warlock throwing a magical leash on the beast, we were able to keep it dormant.”  
“Can you be sure?”  
Blackheart could not, but his gut told him that such was the case.  
“I believe so, for once leashed, the creature’s radiating powers were dampened.”  
“Incredible.”  
“It was close.”  
“Sure seemed like it from up here.”


	5. The Birthday Present

Chapter 5:  
“Hey big guy!” She swung down into his hammock and almost fell through one of the holes. The distance from the platform above was not much for Bee but Jang landed harder than she thought and now struggled to pull her boot back through the net.  
“What’re you doing up?” Asked Bee with his right.  
“Up? I sleep when the lobsters sleep, sweetie. And late in the springtime there happens to be a congregation of them in the cape at just these wee hours.”  
“I think you mean to say mating season, how’s it feel to exploit this most sacred of rituals?” Bee continued speaking with his right while scratching the horn of his left, puzzling over whether lobsters actually slept. Later, he felt dumb for pondering the question as long as he did.  
“Do me a favor, stop being so hilarious and reach up there for my things,” she pointed to the planks from which she had jumped. Her things included a couple of knapsacks of what appeared to be bait and tackle, a couple of large, disassembled crab traps and a keg, Bee wondered how the tiny creature was able to carry all of this. Fishing equipment was generally not only heavy but also awkward and cumbersome. However she did it, Jang was good at her job. She was assistant to the Riggle Bassbait, whose beach festival, the Stranglethorn Fishing Extravaganza had been all the rage for fishermen, drawing lots of important business to Booty Bay.   
Riggle was the self-proclaimed angler-extraordinaire who had first discovered a rare species of what he called ‘Tastyfish’ in the waters around the cape about four years prior. He brought his findings to Revilgaz, the town’s mayor, if you could call him that. But whether one called Revilgaz a mayor or a dictator, it could not be denied that he was a genius. Within months, the cape was suddenly swarming with the supposedly rare Tastyfish and people from across Azeroth were participating in a fishing contest of which Riggle was the greatest profiteer. Jang’s job during the festival was to relieve people of their catch at a fraction of the market price. In fact, by Jang’s own admission, she had agreed to prices that varied wildly depending on how new or gullible her audience was. In effect, the people participating in the contest were a source of nearly free labor for Riggle, who bred his fish not far from town and seeded the surrounding waters every year. The whole operation had been financed by Revilgaz, who had a couple of dirty little fingers in almost every pie across the port-city, especially the bars and most especially the Salty Sailor. Care had even been taken not to seed waters less than a couple hours’ hike from town to make sure that the returning anglers were thirsty by the time they got their pittance from Jang. Needless to say, Jang made enough money over the course of each festival that she went crabbing and fishing only as a personal hobby.   
The equipment she pointed at was easily within reach for Bee but given that he was in the company of one of his close friends in the middle of the night, he opted to levitate the stuff down into her lap with a flick of his wrist.  
“Easy, easy! Don’t shake the pony keg, it’s your present,” she winked as she guided the floating barrel down from its precarious flight.  
“Present?” Bee tried to hide his glee.  
“Yeah yeah well, it is what it is. Give me some credit, it travelled a long way to get to you and it’s no ordinary hooch.”  
Bee was delighted, it had taken some measure of self-control to resist the urge of probing the container with his mind, not that the contents were any great mystery. Much like himself, Jang was not the biggest fan of cool, clear water.  
“Somebody knows what I like. But you know I couldn’t stand another drop, even I have my limits.”  
“Oh hon you never showed any signs of limits before,” she knocked on the keg twice as if to call his attention, “This is way too special for you to drink right now anyway. No, this you’ll have to save for when you’re craving a treat.”  
“Good, because my heads are splitting,” Bee picked it up and took a whiff, although only the faintest, bitter smell escaped the expert craftsmanship of the container. Bee had to once again dismiss the urge to analyze everything about his present with magic and stuck to his senses, “What is it? This thing didn’t come from any cooper in town, I’d venture to say it didn’t originate anywhere in the cartels. And the smell makes me think that whoever brewed this ale was no amateur either. Don’t tell me it fell off a cart, because it just seems so expensive.”  
“Good instincts, you're right about the keg, it’ll tell you almost as much about where this came from as the contents.”  
As she spoke, Bee let out a gasp, “Could it be?” He lifted the bottom of the barrel close to his left. One of the strange quirks of having two heads was that his vision, while sharp on his right, was superb on his cyclopean left. To the point that here in the middle of the night, he could discern a crisp image which had been burned into the wood before being worn down to almost nothing. This, along with his heads’ personalities and myriad other differences was hard to explain to anyone with one head, Bee didn’t often bother trying. He was just glad he wasn’t like all the other one-headed creatures under the sun. What a boring existence, being alone with one’s thoughts.  
“It is!” Jang threw her arms up in excitement.  
“That’s the Wildhammer banner!” The eyes of his right met hers, she saw they were agape with elation as he picked Jang up and hugged her with one arm. While his right thanked her repeatedly, the left continued to examine the pyrograph.   
The hammer flanked by blocky gryphon silhouettes meant that this was no ordinary hooch. Dwarves were likely to be Azeroth’s most famous brewers, and between the two clans, Bronzebeards dominated almost every industry due to their sheer numbers; which meant that Wildhammer hooch was a bit rarer. Bee had drank Bronzebeard ales of many different brands but he had never so much as seen a Wildhammer dwarf. Bee had heard rumors of the third clan rejoining Ironforge, which sparked his interest.  
The expert-level craftsmanship of the cooper was thus explained. Each bolt had been formed by dwarven hands, his eye confirmed that they were amazingly identical. Some had even said that the guns produced by dwarves had interchangeable parts for this very reason. As smart as goblins were, their works were stereotypically rickety and jerryrigged. The focus was always invention, pioneering and most of all, profitability. Dwarven manufacturing processes set themselves apart by placing emphasis on superb quality, reliability and reproducibility.  
Bee stopped admiring the container and began to daydream about the contents but noted to himself just how long he was examining such a simple thing. After dismissing the idea of a mental probe once again in favor of keeping the mystery alive for a little while, his left finally joined the conversation his right was having with Jang.  
“Seriously, tell me you didn’t lift this off some poor soul for the price of their admission into the fishing contest,” he paused while she chuckled and then continued with his right, “I don’t think I like the thought of that dummy still being out there on the lookout for his cask.”   
“Aw come on Bee, I’m not always scheming. Believe it or not I got this as a gift myself.”  
“Mmmmm-hmmm,” Bee’s left agreed with his right, “That’ll be the day.”  
She slapped his arm, “It’s true! As a matter of fact there are plenty of people out there who think highly of me.”  
“Like who?”  
“Like my aunt Gigi, the old crone adores me for some reason and brings me the most exquisite gifts on occasion because she just happens to have friends in high places.”  
“Does she now,” Bee’s left drifted off again, regarding the first rays of the rising sun dancing off of the water in the harbor.  
“Yes and those friends happened to have business in the Twi-Hi of all places, where they obtained some of this little treasure.”  
This brought Bee’s left back.  
“The highlands you say.” the intrigue was naked on the face of his left but she didn’t recognize it. He quickly continued with his right, “So this isn’t Aerie Peak booze?”  
“Nope, only the rarest of the rare for you!”  
“Jang I hate to ask but, is there any chance I could meet Gigi?”  
“Um, sure she’s in town for the week, why?”  
“You remember the birthday wish I wished on that firework?”  
“To meet someone famous? Gigi may have big-shot friends but I doubt they’d be considered famous.”  
“Jang, I’ll tell you the truth,” he sat up and looked at her intently with both heads, “I’m getting restless. I don’t want any sort of life-defining adventure but I do want to get away.”  
“Don’t tell me all those years of your dad whining at you have paid off.”  
“Hardly...I have a plan.”  
“Spill it!”  
“Well, it’s more of a vague idea.”  
“Knew it.”  
“Look, the point is, you’re the only one I know who’s even remotely connected around here. If what they say is true, the highlands are where the action is at and if your aunt’s friends have business there then they must be connected to something bigger.”  
“It’s where the action was,” she corrected him, “Haven’t you heard? Someone apparently killed the dragon not too long ago.”  
“Well it’s still as close as close as I’ll get to some ‘action’ in our time,” he used airquotes this time to signal that the word ‘action’ had been used one too many times, “I don't mind being the latecomer.”  
“But you could still get killed out there.”  
“I said I want to meet one of these guys, not fight alongside them in the hopes of becoming famous myself. I just want to see something significant, a story to tell. A vacation.”  
“Hell of a vacation,” she rolled her eyes, “Alright, I’ll introduce you. She could probably use a pack mule on her way back.”  
“That’s all I want.”  
“You might wanna drink that before she catches you with it.”  
“Good thinking, let’s not tell her about this.”


	6. Too Young to Remember

Chapter 6: Year 2  
Blackheart had never had anything close to a name of his own, such is the fate of children living in the shadow of their fathers. And in the case of this particular young ogre, unassuming but for his two heads, this shadow was a long one indeed. His early years were spent in the pits of the Auchindoun where his father and Grandmaster Vorpil attempted to tame the creature that had been brought to life in the center of the Shadow Labyrinth.  
The beast was...uncooperative.  
Each attempt they made at subjugating it was met with failure, but the two vowed never to give up, though just containing the creature took every ounce of strength they had.  
It was in this place that Blackheart the Younger began his magical training. His memories of the place and of his father were few. Aside from boasting of prophecy and being vocal about his son’s supposed destiny, it turned out that the Inciter was not too interested in raising his child.  
So the young ogre spent his early days entertaining himself in the endless channels, rarely visiting the surface with his mother. He found the subterranean maze much more exciting. He imagined that there was once an order to the halls but something had clearly caused devastation, as many of the pathways were either collapsed or ripped open. While he grew fast, at age five, his body was still small as compared to the rest of the company. He often squeezed through the rocks which blocked the collapsed halls to explore where his mother didn’t want him to. His talent for magic showed even in these days; he would often get lost but even before he could levitate a feather, he had developed his sixth sense. He could smell magic and no matter how far he ventured in the dark, he could find his way back to the center of the maze, where his father, the other warlocks, and some cyclone of white fog were busy veritably spewing magic in all directions.  
He hadn’t even ventured far when he discerned a constant noise in the halls. He attempted to follow it but, having reached a fork, the echoing of the clamor made it difficult to follow. However, a soft light illuminated the passage to his left. The light was easier to follow than the noise and the two definitely seemed to emanate from the same corridor. He rounded two more corners and came upon a corridor which was almost fully lit, unlike the vast majority of them. As he pursued the light source, he ascended a few flights of stairs to find a hallway with a sizeable hole blasted in its wall. Light and noise were pouring into through the opening which he approached to behold the central chamber which he had seen before, but was not all too familiar with. Below him, his father and the other warlocks stood, encircling the colossal, white figure immersed in fog. At this height, he was eye-level with the mysterious figure, although it did not face him, nor did it have eyes.  
Although much of the complex was clearly damaged, he wondered what might’ve torn this hole in the wall and looked behind him to see that the wall opposite the opening was damaged as well. The ornate patterns carved into the stone of much of the network were interrupted by a few yards of crumbling rock. Pieces of the wall had fallen out of the structure and formed a small pile on the floor. Upon further inspection, he saw something glint under the debris.  
The young ogre had seen strange objects strewn about in the devastated parts of the network before. Candlesticks, crystals and other random items were thrown about in every direction when whatever had destroyed this place occurred, but this was clearly different. He blew on the dust covering what was left of the ravaged portion of the wall to see something white embedded in the stone. To a very limited extent, it exuded the same white glow as whatever the conclave of warlocks were working on. At first he thought for sure that the light from the chamber was playing on the surface of a metallic object, but as he removed a rock which partially covered it, he noted that the very surface of the thing seemed to move. It seemed like a crystal of the same sort but a different color than the ones that the unknown builders of this place were so fond of. Yet every time he thought he had discerned its shape, the facets seemed to shift, as if it were not solid at all.   
The youth continued to pry at the larger stones that the object was embedded in. It emanated...something, but not a magical power he could quite recognize. When it was free of the wall, he picked it up and stared at it for some time, wondering what it could be.   
Given the hole in the wall to his right and the damage to the one on his left, it would appear that this thing was shot through the wall, perhaps by the same force that had damaged the rest of the building. One thing was certain, it shimmered with the exact tint as the room below. White with an understated green, it must have originated from the chamber.  
From the misty figure.  
Blackheart the Younger was overwhelmed with excitement, perhaps his discovery related to the work of the warlocks.  
“Father!” His voice echoed through the hall as he stood at the opening in the wall, but the noise of the spells channeled by those in the chamber was deafening. He clasped the strange object tight and turned to descend the stairs and return from whence he came.  
He squeezed back through shattered stones to return to his home, a mammoth, winding hall dotted with tents and violet banners bearing the menacing symbol of the Shadow Council. As he raced through the passages, he ignored the inquisitive glances of the warlocks who had rotated out of the casting conclave as well as the cries of his mother who had heard the pitter-patter of his footsteps echoing through the arteries of the compound. He rounded two more corners to behold the massive silhouette of his father before the mist-shrouded giant. Two more acolytes barred the way but with the element of surprise on his side, the youth ran into the chamber and tugged on his father’s robes, holding his discovery aloft.  
“Trifling whelp! Away!”  
He did not know what his father was doing at times like these, when his towering figure was bathed in dancing shadows, but nothing would divert his attention.  
The voices of his mother apologizing to the warlocks was muted in his ears as she herded him away from the chamber. Back in their own hut, she feigned interest in the orb in his palm but barely regarded it with one head.  
“What a pretty trinket you’ve got there. Why don’t you try to string it up as an amulet? Then you can show your father as soon as he is home. You know how busy they are in that chamber.”  
The object was just as easily dismissed by his father.  
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“This is no place for a child! Even you can admit that.”  
The Inciter paced up and down the cavernous chamber serving as his home. His mate was right, but it was hard for someone like him to admit.  
“I worry to let him out of my sight, the hallways are endless. And with his training underway, who knows if one day he finds a way to slip past our perimeter wards. Who knows if something else slips past them from the outside?”  
“I admit, it seems in the best interest of his training that he return to what remains of the Shadow Council above.”  
In Blackheart’s opinion, one of the Horde’s greatest mistakes was not trying harder to bring ogres into the fold without waging war. The unfortunate result of the war with Goria was the destruction of Highmaul, and the sophisticated infrastructure that had been put into place for the research and teaching of magic. Gul’dan may have offered great power but his followers were few and the process by which new warlocks were trained was hopelessly inferior to the schools dedicated to this practice in the ogre capitol. By annihilating this sophisticated system, the Horde denied itself a powerful weapon.  
Gul’dan had brought the vast majority of the Shadow Council with him when the portal opened, which made this problem even harder to solve. The good news for his son was that the warlocks left on Draenor were surely twiddling their thumbs, some of them must have been more ideally situated to instruct the child in the mystic arts than the few in the tunnels with him. Blackheart was one of the few who remembered the inner workings of the Highmaul institutions dedicated to arcana but even so, he was not the ideal teacher. The shackling of the beast was taking up more and more of their time and energy. One thing Blackheart remembered of the curriculum was the series of milestones children would have to reach by certain ages to stay in the program and his son had more than met the qualifications of a five year-old. It was time to send him to get some real instruction.   
As sending two-headed children away to the magic institutions of Highmaul was customary, the parents were not much bothered by the idea of the child spending some time away from them. So without many tearful goodbyes, Blackheart the Younger was sent with his mother and a handful of guards on his way to Hellfire Citadel where the Shadow Council had been called to meet once more.


	7. The Interview

Chapter 7:  
Of course Bee had no wish to go to the Highlands which were still as dangerous these days as Outland was two years ago. But he knew that some of the reasons behind his reluctance to return to his home world were legitimate. He couldn’t go to Outland just as he was. He needed something else. He didn’t quite know what it was; maybe Kelsey was right and it was magical training. Maybe Gigi was the key and it was influential friends. But he certainly needed something.  
Bee’s first impression of Gigi was just a bit negative. She was easy to converse with, her personality may have been a tad bit abrasive, but not too much. Bee prided himself on being a people-person, he had a flexible personality which allowed him to get along easily with the myriad faces he encountered in the port-city. These would include shrewd traders, tree-hugging druids, even paladins blinded by their own light whose conversational skills were limited to the words ‘honor’ and ‘duty’.   
Or in the case of Gigi, maniacal warlocks.  
Bee wished Jang had mentioned this little tidbit before introducing the two but his chameleon personality compensated well enough. As soon as he saw her deep purple robes and pointy hat, he remembered his biological father and wondered when to tell her they were cut from the same cloth.   
“So what, you want to work for me?”  
“Yes.”  
“And what business of yours is my business?”  
“None, but your business clearly takes you all over the world. I just want to tag along so I can see the world myself.”  
“Ugh,” Gigi had clearly been through this conversation before. Since when did ‘adventurer’ become such a common job title?   
“You’re awfully excited, how old are you anyway? Or can you count that high?”   
Bee jumped at the opportunity to mix truth and lies “Thirty-one! I’m a good cook, a trained fighter and I dabble in magics…”  
“Yeah yeah I’m sure.”  
She regarded his imposing frame and contemplated the clichéd traveler duo of goblin and ogre, not an illogical combination. She admitted that this brute seemed less oafish than his kin and although she required no pack mule or protection, she could use some company.  
“You know I’m accepting this offer only because you are a friend of Jang’s.”   
Both of Bee’s heads showed excitement, which Gigi did her best to nip in the bud. It would be difficult to silence the giant if both of his heads started pouring thanks and promises with this kind of enthusiasm.  
“Know that from this moment on, I am your boss and you jump when I tell you to.”  
“Of course!”  
“Don’t think for a second that you are anything more than a beast of burden.”  
“Happy to help!”   
“And make no mistake,” she opened her palm and menaced him with a swelling orb of shadowy energy, “If I feel like it, I’ll kill you myself in a heartbeat and I won’t have any qualms about telling my niece that you fell overboard.”  
“I expect nothing less of my employers!”  
“Whoa whoa whoa, don’t think you’re getting paid either,” Gigi thought for a moment that she had found a loophole to the ogre’s excitement but was soon proven wrong.  
“I never expected such luxury. Jang taught me to fish, I’ll manage for myself.”  
Gigi was not too much older than the ogre but was amazed by the youthful energy he exuded.   
Naiveté...he’ll learn a thing or two when he sees the world outside of this backwater.


	8. The Shadow Council without Gul'dan

Chapter 8: Year 3  
There were indeed very few members of the Shadow Council left. The meeting in the citadel was missing some key figures, most notably, Gul’dan and his giant shadow, Cho’gall. The uneasy feeling in the room was definitely not due to their absence in particular. It was the lack of leadership which now overshadowed this gathering. After the clans which had been selected to pass through the portal had left, those remaining were overcome with unease. When would it be their turn to stake their claim in the new world? What was to be done until that time?  
Thanks to a lack of enemies on the homeworld, the remainder of the Horde promptly splintered into its component clans and began fighting one another, as they had often done out of sheer boredom before the portal. This behavior was common and caused little bad blood, but it was certainly detrimental to the idea of a unified Horde. The only thing binding them together was the vestiges of the council, whose members were by no means the clan leaders in most cases. Thankfully, the wait was over, in a manner of speaking. Couriers had come through the portal bringing news of a glorious victory in the capital of the new world’s denizens, however, the fighting was not over.  
“I don’t understand, several couriers have confirmed the same two things. That our exodus into the new world was a success and that the world itself is vast and provides plenty correct? Why shouldn’t we move through now and establish our dominance of the new world, as was planned?” The speaker was another one of the very few ogre warlocks, Vim’gol. Like Blackheart, he was well-spoken and learned thanks to the sophisticated school system of Goria. His left head was hooded and the single eye therein glowed red the same way that a select few of the orcs’ eyes had after drinking an excessive amount of demon blood. Whether this was the reason for his fiery gaze, none could say; but if it was, he had certainly not been affected the same way as the orcs, whose consumption of the substance caused significant physical changes as well as blind aggression. Vim’gol was as calm as he had ever been, although most would have opted to use descriptors such as calculating, cold or even reptilian. Like most of his kin, he didn’t cover his body with much besides a loincloth and a beautiful silk sash of crimson which extended from his hood, across his tattooed chest down to his belt and the massive grimoire which hung there. Rumors abounded about the contents of this tome, though the key to its steel lock hadn’t been seen by any present in this company of scheming sorcerers. Each guarded their own power as jealously as they watched those of the others.  
“We planned for all of this,” said a stunning orc female clad in violet robes. She may have been one of three in attendance who wasn’t graying and covered with wrinkles and scars; on top of that, she was definitely the only one here representing her gender. Her slim build, sharp tusks and flowing, raven locks made it clear why she had been nicknamed ‘Giselda the Beautiful’ although her nickname, position in the council and stubborn support of Gul’dan was yet another source of rumors amongst this pack of wolves.   
She continued, “The clans which were selected to cross may have won a great victory, but we must assume that their struggle continues. We must await further instruction until we are either called to aid in battle or allotted a piece of the conquered...”  
“Allotted! They would give us pieces!” The voice of Mogor’s right head boomed over Giselda’s. The ogre-magi was a threatening figure, clearly more of a fighter than a caster. His hard headed ways were well known in this crowd as he was one of the few council members who was also a clan leader, of the warlike Laughing Skull clan, no less. His group of troublemakers had been fighting the other clans for sport since before the opening of the portal. The fact that any ogre had risen through hostile orc ranks to become a chieftain threatened the other council members more than his brawn or his magic. His left elaborated “Let me decide what is best for my clan! Who will stop me from crossing and staking my claim?”  
“We all serve Gul’dan,” Giselda’s attempt to reinforce the distant warlock’s control over this meeting was met with increasing resistance as several people began murmuring.  
“Then why have we no heard from Gul’dan himself, or Blackhand for that matter?” a warlock by the name of Deathwail inquired, “Every message in the past few months has been a Blackrock courier but without the Blackrock chieftain’s seal? I wonder just what is happening on the other side of the portal.”   
“Can you not see? Blackhand must have been deposed, the Horde on the other side is not the same one that left us three years ago.”  
“Nethekurse doesn’t portray the situation to be as dire as it is! A communications disruption can mean only one thing, invasion! The Horde has turned on or worse, abandoned those that they’ve left on this world! If we attempt to cross, they may not even look upon us as kin!” The gathering had once again begun to murmur disapproval after Nethekurse’s comment but Keli’dan’s ideas caused the room to erupt in argument. Few knew what was going on and this atmosphere bred increasingly outlandish ideas.  
“Calm yourselves!” Fortunately, not everyone in the group was completely clueless. One such individual was Grillok of the Bleeding Hollow clan. His clan was one of those chosen for the expedition, but the sheer size of the group made it quite possible to leave a minority behind. Grillok looked up to his chieftain and would have followed him with unquestioning loyalty but he was selected to lead the clan on Draenor. He was a very young shaman and his voice was powerful enough to bring the commotion back down to a simmer, “My chieftain has informed me of no such outrageous goings on.”  
“If Blackhand has been succeeded then who’s to say what happened to Kilrogg?” Nethekurse’s comment garnered a hateful stare from the young Bleeding Hollow shaman.  
“That...can’t happen,” He turned to Keli’dan to address the less reasonable fears, “You forget that the Bleeding Hollow is a clan divided. They wouldn’t turn on those of us that were left on this world because they have family back here, with me.”  
A much older shaman by the name of Zuluhed spoke up in support of Grillok. Zuluhed was the chieftain of the Dragonmaw clan which was also chosen, but unlike that of his younger colleague, his clan had sent a small group through the portal and left the majority on this world.  
“He speaks the truth, heed the words of those who have eyes and ears on both sides of the portal. I guess the missives were on a need-to-know basis but as we speak, more of my clan is mobilizing to move through.”  
This drew bile from most of the people in the room, which the old Dragonmaw shaman gladly took in as he continued to goad the others, “Indeed, it seems our warchief has need of my people, I’ve no choice but to oblige him for the good of the Horde.”  
“Not fair! Me want to go too!” The outburst of O’mrogg’s dimwitted left head was quickly silenced by his right, but not before the ogre brandished a massive red hammer in Zuluhed’s direction. The comment went unnoticed in a wave of similar grumblings.  
“Children, children, don’t worry,” Zuluhed greedily ate up the ire of the council members, “I’m sure this world has space left for each of you.  
The elder realized he had overplayed his hand as the gargantuan fists of the Laughing Skull chieftain slammed on a stone table, which cracked in half.  
“I’ll find my place in the new world if I have to assault the very steps of the portal! It is the destiny of all clans!” Mogor was an unrivalled fighter and even this group, brimming with other ogres and various powerful magicians collectively backed away from him. The only figure which moved towards the enraged giant was Ner’zhul.  
“I’ve had enough out of you! Traitorous, incendiary remarks like that are what got us left on this rock!”  
The Shadowmoon chieftain was one of the oldest in the group. When he spoke, his voice was weak, almost overshadowed by the tapping of his cane on the floor as he limped his way over to the looming ogre. His frail body and cantankerous attitude contributed much to the council’s attitude towards him; but not as much as the memory of his humiliation at the hands of Gul’dan. When the old shaman was deposed by his own pupil, that was when the shadow council was truly born. That was where their vicious leader had gotten his taste for the public breaking of his subordinates. Yet despite years of degradation in the eyes of the rest, Ner’zhul would always remain their first leader.   
He had tattooed a skull onto his face and painted it white, resulting in a fearsome visage. The image of death was a mirror to his soul, the once benevolent shamanistic leader of the orcs had all but given up. Following the brutal episode with Gul’dan’s seizing of power, Ner’zhul had become a resentful pawn, but he still cared about his people. After Gul’dan left, the old shaman started caring about less and less.  
Despite all of this supposed disillusionment, he was still the greatest shaman to have lived. His command of the elements had not skipped a beat when Cyrukh, the Firelord was defeated and he had only grown stronger in the absence of his hated former student. Wherever he went, he was accompanied by Dentarg, his ogre apprentice as well as an infamous guard whose title was simply, Slayer. While everyone else, including his own servants had reeled at the sight of Mogor’s vascular limbs, Ner’zhul had walked right up to his infuriated counterpart and stared him down as if he couldn’t see death an inch from his face.  
“Fool, would you stop me from claiming the birthright of my clan?”  
“You’d never set foot on the Path of Glory. Think you that the citadel was built to protect us from some alien threat? These battlements exist to keep us here!”  
“I’ll crush you!”  
“To keep us here!” The bellowing of the ogre had silenced as well as all of the other voices in the room. Ner’zhul continued and addressed the others, “To keep us on this dying rock. To prevent our constant bickering from spilling over into the new world!”  
The group met this with mixed expressions but no one spoke for a painful minute until the old shaman began pacing the room.  
“You all know that I’ve no love for my usurper. He has led our people down a dark path, yet this is still my people,” Ner’zhul had not lost his talent for leadership. As the temper of the ogre beside him subsided, the others in the room straightened up. Not one of them could deny the power, the skill and the destiny of their former leader, “I will break oaths, defy gods and damn my own soul if it means saving my people. As before, on the slopes of the volcano, I will do whatever I have to to ensure that we live on! And for now, that means waiting. Being ready. Being here, on our world, making the best of it.”  
After a minute of silence, a figure in the archway spoke up, causing many in the group to spin on their heels, as they had not heard her voice before.  
“There is one thing you might do while you wait.”  
One of the warlocks recognized Blackheart’s mate and began to dismiss her.  
“Silence wench! You bed with the Inciter but you do not speak for him, guards!”  
“I do when it concerns his heir,” upon saying this, Blackheart the Younger was ushered forth by his mother’s arm to face the group of menacing figures.  
“Instead of fighting one another and falling into madness, why not nurture what little we still have? The council is the Horde’s greatest weapon, its best chance at success against any obstacle, are we to let it die with this generation? Or should this blade be honed until it is truer than it was under Gul’dan’s guidance?”   
“One more seditious word out of you…”  
A small flame had appeared over Deathwail’s palm as he spoke, but his words were interrupted by a torrentuous gale sweeping into the room from the archway which blew out the candle and left a puff of smoke dancing unceremoniously between the warlock’s fingers. Deathwail’s hood had also been blown off, the look on his face was priceless but neither he nor any other member of the group felt like making a sound. Ner’zhul’s cane continued its lonely tapping as he resumed pacing the couple of feet between Mogor and the rest of the group.  
“She’s right and we all know it.”   
Blackheart wasn't listening to them, he approached the group slowly after swallowing his initial fear of the cloaked figures. Most of the sorcerers looked upon the child with either indifference, veiled contempt or clear disgust, as they were not accustomed to the dealing with women or children in their meetings or in everyday life. Therefore, as the child approached them, most of the figures either scowled to attempt to frighten him away or backed off themselves, not wanting to appear weak before the other council members. While his mother spoke, Blackheart continued putting one uncertain foot in front of the other as the group parted before him. He had wandered all the way through the group and was now standing in front of Mogor and Ner'zhul. These two, refusing to yield to a child stared uncomfortably until a large but one headed figure stepped toward the child with a warm smile. The boy was immediately comforted by what must have been the only welcoming presence in the room, within moments and he had been scooped up in the arms of loyal Dentarg, Ner’zhul’s disciple. His voice was undoubtedly the least aggressive one in the room, it held no amount of veiled jealousy, ego or ire.  
“You needn’t worry. Teaching the magical arts was once a proud tradition for this council. We will ensure that it doesn’t end with the Horde’s departure.”


	9. Flattering the Boss

Chapter 9:  
Gigi had to admit that she liked Bee more and more every day. At first glance, the looming ogre seemed no different from any other. He wore the hair on his right in long, tight braids while his left was bald. He wore but a hide loincloth supported by a belt, his earthly belongings hanging in a satchel on his side. A few tattoos were scattered across his back and arms, presumably nautically themed although she couldn’t quite tell. Despite the simple appearance, the ogre was not only less oafish than his kin, he exceeded all of her expectations in every way.   
For starters, he was bright and not only when it came to ships and other things that concerned his job. He knew about the world, it was clear that rather than just drinking his days away on the docks, he had kept all four ears open to the world of outsiders who passed through his town each day. He knew about magic and what was even more intriguing, he knew about warlocks, though Gigi had not been able to discern why. His ability to keep his secrets surprised her almost as much as his self-control when it came to probing hers. He asked where they were headed on day one but she refused to tell him, a week into their journey he had still not asked again.  
“Some things are for you alone to know and that’s good enough for me, boss.”  
“You must be more curious than that.”  
“I’ve no reason not to trust you. Besides, I’m sure Jang mentioned to you my birthday wish. To meet someone famous?”  
More and more naiveté, that is the wish of a child.  
“She told me, although I had a hard time believing it.”  
Bee smiled, shrugged and gestured with his hands as if to say, I’m not changing my story regardless of what you believe.  
They were just over a week out of port. Having rounded the Cape of Stranglethorn, they were now heading up the east coast of the continent. The ship was a splendidly clean transport, Gigi always preferred travelling in style. She sat in a reclined chair on the huge, open deck while Bee sat leaning against a taffrail. The ogre loved sunning himself, having spent his life in the temperate South Seas, he had never needed more clothing than the bare minimum. It was many years before he learned through chance that ogres never wore much more than a loincloth in any climate, preferring to show off their bodies in a culture which valued size and strength above all.   
Beside him sat a backpack almost as big as he, stuffed with Gigi’s many belongings and with several additional packs buckled to it on all sides. Upon ‘hiring’ Bee, one of Gigi’s first ideas was to remove her many belongings from the enchanted satchel she wore on her belt which thanks to its clever magics could fit as much as one of the ship’s spacious cabins. She then found a vendor of travel containers in Booty Bay and basically bought out the store to assemble the monstrosity which now sat by the Ogre. She had said that this was all to give him something to carry but in truth, she liked the fantasy of looking like a big-shot merchant with her ogre carrying the various goods. Bee noticed that she switched her violet garb for a blue one and matching hat which somehow immediately made her look less like a warlock.  
“So you’re telling me you don’t care where we go because…”  
“Might be that I’m more interested in people than places.”  
“Then why don’t you ask me who we’ll meet?”  
“I hate to generalize but you warlocks still keep to yourselves. You are less likely to tell me about these friends of yours than you are about our destination.”  
She raised a menacing eyebrow, Bee was quick to save the situation.  
“Look, maybe it’s not about people or places. I’ve been in Booty Bay all of my life so I just want something different. At first I thought I wanted to travel to exotic lands, or meet someone famous, or see something significant, or have a story to tell. Really it’s all and none of those things at once. I want to throw myself into whatever comes my way.”  
“So why come with me, adventurers are supposed to make their own way, and that is what you are as of now right?”  
“I hope I don’t sound presumptuous. Jang has told me nothing but amazing stories about her dearest family member, how you’ve been like a sister to her and...”  
“Ooh that line would be cute if it wasn’t so clichéd,” her tone of voice was undermined by her smile and flushed cheeks.  
“Think what you want, it’s the truth. I have no friends outside of the city and the naval service. I imagine adventuring can be quite dull, who wouldn’t want such charming company?”  
She raised an eyebrow as her lips curled even further. Bee thought her eyes may have been warning him to cease the flattery but, ever the gambling man, he pressed his advantage.  
“Especially when my company commands all those impressive talents,” he wiggled his fingers in her direction in a mockery of spellcasting.  
“Careful there Romulo,” this time Gigi snapped her fingers and flames engulfed Bee’s body...or so he thought before realizing that the flames, while dancing all around him and licking uncomfortably close in certain spots, were nevertheless held far enough away that he felt no pain and could almost get enough air to breathe. She let out a quiet chuckle, Bee raised his hands as if acknowledging the loaded pistol of a pirate who told him to reach for the sky, the flames followed his arms, almost like a mobile cage. This little goblin had quite a sense of humor.  
“Don’t mistake me for easy prey.”  
Bee may not have had good poker faces but he was still good at poker. The discerning eye of his left made his own weakness common around the table. Flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, flared nostrils and nervous gulps were no match for the mammoth orb. Even now, through the inferno swirling about his massive frame, he could tell when his opponent was on the ropes.   
He continued with massive smiles on both faces, as if the flames were tickling his feet, “Can you imagine it? A band of gnolls with knives to my throat? They’d rob me, or worse...until you come in and show em what for?”  
She finally gave in to his flattery and with a chuckle, the flames dissipated.  
“Now you sound presumptuous.”  
“Oh what, you wouldn’t save little old me?”  
“Not before those gnolls relieved you of your belongings and taught you a lesson.”  
“You’d let them steal all your hard-earned gold out of my pockets?”  
Her smile faded quickly as he produced a dark blue coin purse from the satchel on his side.  
“It’s fashionable, matches the rest of your regalia, which I must say…” he winked as he brought his thumb and forefinger together in a circle and clicked his tongue.  
This time, the blood rushed to Gigi’s cheeks so vehemently that her face rather resembled a pair of ripening tomatoes. She snatched the purse from his hands and stuffed it back in her robes, huffing and puffing for a second before she found her voice.  
“I see, when you find yourself in danger, you take a hostage.”  
“Who says I didn’t swipe that earlier?” He gestured towards her as if to illustrate ‘swiping’ while making clear that his hands were almost as big as her body. This made her laugh.  
“I’ll admit you can conjure some cheap tricks, but I don’t think I’d put my money on you when it comes to sleight of hand.”  
The two continued chuckling for a minute, unable to break eye contact.  
“You know these talents of mine, they’re mostly for show,” she relaxed her body for just a moment before her amber eyes playfully darted back to meet his, “or are they?” another shadowy orb appeared in her palm. Her smile widened as the sphere swelled to an alarming size.  
“We’ll have to find out another time, when we’re in less of a joking mood,” as Bee spoke, he reached one hand over the dancing void in hers. The darkness continued swelling but now seemed to vibrate from within, as if an unseen force was attempting to pop the bubble. As the swirling mass continued to increase in size, the two received concerned looks from some of the nearby passengers similarly sunning themselves on deck.  
The two continued chuckling intermittently as their eyes darted back and forth between the heart of the growing orb and each other’s gaze. This continued for another minute until the writhing mass of blackness, now the size of the ogre’s belly, was torn apart from whatever force Bee had brought into its core. As it did so, a blast of deep sound escaped with no crescendo, almost like a foghorn in how sudden and loud it was. This time they caught the attention of everyone on deck, exclaims and profanity were heard in the distance. Their eyes met once again and the two struggled not to laugh.  
As the shadow dissipated, Gigi found herself impressed once again.  
“No trickster after all.”  
“I aim to please, boss.”  
“Perhaps I’ll find a use for you yet, pack mule.”


	10. Shadowmoon Village

Chapter 10: Year 7  
“What have you got there young one?”  
Blackheart’s attempt at hiding his trinket back in his satchel was unsuccessful. The white glimmer of its shifting surface could be seen across the hut and besides that, Dentarg seemed to sniff magic out even better than Bee although the young ogre had been brought up to believe that those of his kin with a single head were mostly dull and dim-witted creatures with no touch for the mystical arts. Over the past few years, however, Dentarg had made Blackheart forget everything he thought he knew about magic; under his tutelage, at eleven years old, the youth had blossomed into a force to be reckoned with.  
“Some magic trinket. My father…” Blackheart’s voice trailed off as memories of his father flooded his mind.  
A towering figure, bathed in dancing shadow.  
“Your father gave it to you?”  
“No I want...I wanted to give it to him,” Blackheart’s faces radiated despondence which broke Dentarg’s heart. He had grown fond of the kid.  
He knew that it was the will of the council as well as the Inciter himself that Blackheart the Younger be brought up as an honorary warlock of their ranks, but the sad truth was that the splintering and division of the Horde, the clan leaders and the council itself on Draenor was too fargone. The stubborn and individualistic groups had gone their separate ways and none of the warlocks wanted to owe the council anything. When he had arrived, the child spent quite a few months at the citadel with the others learning demonology, council affairs, undergoing ritual induction ceremonies and being tattooed far more than any child should be; but when it came down to a long-term commitment to the youth’s education, Dentarg the ogre mage was the only one willing to accept responsibility.  
So it came to pass that the ogre youth travelled to Shadowmoon with Dentarg and Ner’zhul while his mother returned to the Auchindoun. The old shaman barely noticed the child, but then, he barely noticed Dentarg, having become accustomed to his faithful service. Dentarg on the other hand, couldn’t get enough of the boy’s inquisitive attitude and quickly began teaching him everything he knew. Over the course of two years, Shadowmoon Village became accustomed to the sight of the two sending bolts of energy into the sky.  
“Really, what is it?”  
“My mother calls it a toy but I’m not sure.”  
“Far be it from me to correct your mother, but I think what you hold is something special. Can I see it?”  
Blackheart reluctantly handed the object to Dentarg, who squinted his eyes as he held it up by the light of the fire. He murmured this and that while he attempted to glean new information by turning it or tilting his head. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders and handed it back to the child.  
“I’m not sure what it is, but I know it holds great power. This is no trinket which shines and moves for no purpose besides looking pretty. I can feel it.”  
“Really?”  
“Really, really. Have you ever tried using magic on it?”  
“This and that, but I can’t seem to interact with it.”  
“Why don’t you try channeling into it, the same way we did to levitate rocks early in your training?”  
“I’ve tried that,” Blackheart closed his eyes and lifted the object up above his palm, where it spun and continued its ceaseless and barely audible humming, “I’ve tried other spells. It can’t be broken. It won’t melt.”  
“Hmmm, an enigma.”  
“What?”  
“Nevermind,” Dentarg closed his eyes and contemplated, “I’m trying to think but that noise sure is distracting.”  
Dentarg had taught Blackheart many simple spells over the years, from levitation to shielding. Simple manipulation of sounds was among these low-level incantations. Eager to help his master, Blackheart quickly recited the ancient words to enclose the object in a silent bubble.  
What happened next made the youth’s jaws drop. His discovery had no only resisted the spell, it acted against it, amplifying the hum to a clear buzz.  
“Look at that!” Dentarg feigned surprise, “You’re unlocking its secrets already!”  
“Wow!” The exhilaration in Blackheart’s voice was tangible. A new approach had made all the difference, “How did you know?”  
“I didn’t!” Dentarg was a bad liar but he didn’t need much skill around a child, “But let’s see here, we know it makes noise. We know it reacts to manipulation of noise. I know you can feel some sort of energy radiating from this thing, now we have an idea of what it may be.”  
“How come nobody else can feel it? My father didn’t notice, or the others in the castle.”  
“I don’t like to toot my own horn, kid,” Dentarg’s skills in deception were getting worse by the second, “They’re all warlocks. They have a, what do you call it...a narrow vision.”  
“What does that mean?”  
Dentarg used a few mystic words and a huge book appeared in his hand. Blackheart had asked him about this particular spell before but apparently it was a very advanced technique. He flipped the book open to a random page and placed it on the ground before the youth. The page was covered with runes.  
“Do you remember when I taught you how to read and write this? The world is governed by laws, fire is hot, rain falls to the earth, and so on. Arcane is the language in which these laws are written. Everything from the heat of fire to the speed at which rain falls to the earth can be reduced to this, follow?”  
Bee nodded but he was confused. Dentarg was a great teacher of magic in practice, magic in theory was something both of them struggled with.  
“That’s why the warlocks don’t see what we see. They studied the fire, but they didn’t study the rain. They study darkness but they don’t know what power may or may not exist in light.”  
“They summon demons,” Bee thought of his father once again, “but they don’t know much about them either.”  
“Exactly! Magic is infinite, it is endless. Over the years I’ve taught you divination, conjuration, illusion, enchantment and you have so much to learn yet. I hope you never reach a point where you think you know everything.”  
“I won’t master.”  
“You are a better student than I was,” Dentarg smiled, “those warlocks, their magic is limited to what they can use to inflict pain and destroy. They know little of what it takes to create, and everything in between. Look at the case of my master. He studied fire and rain and wind and rock. I’ll bet he still couldn't figure this thing out. He can destroy and create, but he can’t do what we can do. We can animate and teleport, we can create one thing, then turn it into something else. We can even manipulate time itself. There are no limits for us, because rather than bargain with spirits or demons to summon fire, we simply know what fire is.”  
Blackheart smiled and snatched his trinket from where it hung in the air. The buzzing had simmered down to the soft hum which he knew so well. Doubt overcame him as he stammered the next few words.  
“Your master, why do you follow him?”  
“You mean to ask how it was that fate brought us together? It is strange that master and pupil shouldn’t follow the same approach to their art…”  
“That’s not it,” Blackheart almost stuttered for fear of offending the one who had showed him so much kindness, “why do you follow him?”  
“Ah, I understand” Dentarg was surprised it had taken the youth this long to ask. After all, there was no telling what the other members of the council may have filled his head with during his first few months in Hellfire Citadel. At least he didn’t believe everything he heard, “My master is not the most well-liked among the council members. But would you believe that a great while ago, he was the leader of all orcs?”  
Blackheart was shocked. Orcs were concerned with little besides prowess in battle, the old shaman was too frail, his cane was too embarrassing for him to be the ideal for orcs to follow. Besides, his crabby attitude couldn’t possibly inspire a crowd.  
“That’s right, he was. My master may be hard, but it is only because he has been hardened by time. He used to rally great masses, all orcs heeded his call. He may no longer have this magnetic personality, but I know that he is good. I know that he cared about his people and his world. I would bet my life on it. He is one of the few left who is guided by morals and the greater good of all. I will never cease to follow him or his teachings.”  
The two sat in silence for a minute or two before Dentarg closed the book which still lay open in front of Blackheart.  
“Now, I believe we have a few secrets to pry from your little treasure there. But first, another useful trick from among the limitless possibilities we are offered,” with that, Dentarg’s tome vanished from his hands with a flash of light, “I’ll teach you how to keep it safe.”  
WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW  
Blackheart awoke one morning to the sound of commotion in the middle of Shadowmoon Village.  
“Ner'zhul!"  
The voice was raspy and strange. As Blackheart peeked outside his tent, he saw two figures striding between the huts. They were too short and slender to be orcs, but Blackheart couldn’t see any part of them that wasn’t wrapped up in their robes. Strange magic emanated from them and Blackheart could tell from a distance that one of the strangers was terrifyingly powerful.  
"Ner'zhul!" The figure called again with a cold and commanding voice. "I would speak with you!"  
A few of the Shadowmoon orcs began reaching for weapons as one walked up behind the figures and began speaking to them. When the figures turned around to face the orc, Blackheart gasped. Two red eyes glowed under the dark hood of each but nothing else could be seen of their faces. When the orc’s gesticulations hinted at the conversation heating up, similar hooded figures appeared from in between the tents in the village. They exchanged a few more words but without warning, the leader of the hooded figures extended one hand and cast something Blackheart recognized to be a curse of agonizing pain on the orc.   
A warlock then.  
"Dark magic!" A Shadowmoon orc threw an axe at the figure as he shouted to rally his comrades, his attack was deflected by shadowy barrier, "Kill the warlocks before they can afflict any more of us!"  
The leader of the strangers turned on his heels toward the Shadowmoon warriors who immediately began to converge on him. His voice was still raspy but anger forced it up by an octave.   
"If you all die so be it; I will speak with Ner'zhul!" With both hands extended, he summoned a wave of darkness which knocked several orcs backwards while inflicting what must have been agonizing pain.  
"Stop!” Ner’zhul’s voice was commanding and even had the hooded strangers standing up straighter, “There has been enough killing already!"   
The chieftain emerged from his tent and was approached by one of the strangers. The old shaman and the leader of the newcomers exchanged a few more words and seemed to be familiar with one another. Blackheart was so amazed by the dark energies swirling around the leader of the figures that he forgot to attempt scrying to listen in on the conversation. When he did attempt it, he could immediately sense Dentarg’s presence as the older mage sent him a message telepathically.  
Don’t try it.  
So Blackheart spent a few hours wondering just what might be happening inside the chieftain’s tent with the unusual visitors until his master finally approached him in person.   
“My master and I must return to the citadel,” Anticipating Blackhearts protests, Dentarg cast a spell of silence on both of the young ogre’s heads. The two of them had learned much from their combined efforts at unlocking the secrets of the youth’s treasure.  
“Don’t worry,” he continued, “I’ll allow you to accompany me but only on one condition. It is a condition you absolutely must keep in mind.”  
With that, he lifted the spell and leaned in close. The eyes in his single head taking time to look both of Blackheart’s in theirs.  
“You must do as I say, when I say it.”  
“That doesn’t sound too…”  
“You don’t quite understand just what we are going to the citadel for. It may be dangerous and when I say the word, we will leave.”  
Blackheart nodded.  
“I will have duties to perform when we arrive. While your training has been progressing swimmingly, you may soon have a new teacher...”  
“What do you mean?”  
“It’s hard to say, things are changing,” Blackheart would have questioned him more but his master’s voice was uncertain and troubled. It made him nervous, “And that is not all. These hooded strangers, they are not the only strange, new things you may see. I need you to curb your curiosity. People like them, they’ll kill you for so much as an inquisitive look.”  
Blackheart nodded but he didn’t understand why Dentarg was being so dramatic.  
“Now, seeing as your training has progressed far enough, I’d like to give you a couple of gifts.”  
Blackheart’s eyes lit up.  
“What is it?”  
His master reached just outside of the tent and presented Blackheart with the vestments he wore to battle. This included a hide kilt and belt to which several pouches and loops were attached to allow the wearer to carry reagents and various items around his side. But the most meaningful part was a huge plate of metal, leather and wood on the front which would cover a fully grown ogre’s midsection, crotch and thighs. The giant disc’s adamant rim curved in at the top and formed the emblem of the Shadow Council on the front, flanked by other runes.  
“Master I…”  
“You needn’t say anything, wear it with pride when you grow into it, now regard the second piece,” Dentarg now handed Bee a Shadowmoon banner which attached to the backside of the belt.  
“You won’t grow into this for a while, but I trust you’ll wear it with pride.”  
“I don’t know what to say,” Bee’s voice was cracking, “I thank you, master.”  
“Don’t thank me, just keep them safe and honor the clan.”


	11. The Council of the Black Harvest pt.1

Chapter 11:  
“What do you mean we’re not going to the highlands?”  
“I thought you didn’t care where we went.”  
“I guess I don’t, I just assumed…”  
“Don’t do that.”  
“But the boat charter…”  
As if Bee was not surprised enough already, Gigi suddenly summoned a violet doorway right her cabin, where she had called him in the middle of the night with all of their gear packed.  
“The boat charter doesn’t concern us. I got on this boat to get some sun and relaxation on the final days of my vacation. And to shake any tails I may have picked up in Booty Bay.”  
Bee had not thought of that. If Gigi was a part of something important, of course it would be unwise of her to visit such a den of thieves without anticipating that someone would be after her. The little goblin intrigued him more and more every day, Bee was just glad that he could keep it together for this long without begging her to tell him more. He had a feeling his patience was about to be rewarded on the other side of the gate she had opened.  
“Hurry through, I shouldn’t keep these things open too long for the same reason.”  
Bee couldn’t wait. He picked up the massive backpack but couldn’t put it on, the low ceiling would not even let him so much as stoop. Holding the bag in front of him, he passed through the doorway and immediately passed out.  
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“...but that’s one thing you’ll have to work on if you’re trying to be a spellcaster. Can’t be fainting every time you use a portal, embarrassing. We’re lucky to have ported outside the building, do you hear me? Hey!”  
Bee was coming to but the dizzying effects of the portal lingered. He had only felt this once before, it was so long ago that he barely remembered the stomach-turning nausea that stepping through a portal gave him. Gigi was poking him in his left and smacking the horn protruding from it. As he opened his one eye, she stood back up and continued babbling. Bee felt almost like he was drunk, except much worse. Fluids were running from his noses and all of his eyes were seeing double. When he attempted to get up, he stumbled.   
From what he could see through teary eyes, they had teleported far away, as it was the middle of the night on the boat that they left whereas the sun here was still sinking over the horizon. They were standing on a seashore, next to a small cabin surrounded by what he could sense were magical wards, although their function he could not probe, especially not in his current state. The vegetation indicated that they were nowhere near Stranglethorn, which left Bee clueless, as the jungle was the only kind of vegetation that he could recognize.  
He had managed to stand up but as soon as he took a step forward, he hurled with his right. He was glad that his left had managed to stay strong. Gigi was pacing in front of the hut, glaring at the sky with a disgusted expression on her face. When Bee finished making noises, she started tapping her foot.  
“Finished? Clean up please!”  
Bee had to make a couple of attempts before a jet of water escaped his hands and washed away the mess he had made. He regarded the hut and wards with his left while the right spoke.  
“So this is where you work?” The attempt at humor did not work well this time, Gigi just folded her arms and continued staring at Bee while radiating impatience, disbelief and disgust.   
“Can you guess why I’m, not in a joking mood?”   
“Yes.”  
“Because in a way this is my workplace, now listen up. Jang was right when she told you I have friends in high places. When the others arrive, they’ll question your presence but you won’t say a word because they’ll kill you just as fast as your big ugly eye can blink.”  
“Who are they?”  
“That doesn’t concern you, even I’m only here as a sort of administrative worker for their organization.”  
“The mighty Gigi is a secretary?”  
“And seriously, stop with the humor. This just isn’t the crowd. Matter fact, what am I saying? Keep your traps shut, the both of ‘em. I’ll try to explain your presence.”  
“I’m assuming they’re also warlocks?”  
“Not just any warlocks either,” she led him inside the hut where several chairs surrounded a Hearth. She continued in a tone almost hushed, “they are the most powerful warlocks on Azeroth and they’ve formed a sort of collective.”  
“What, do they hope to rule the world from behind the scenes?”  
“Nothing so grandiose, they are teachers and they merely want their school to advance.”  
“And the purpose of this meet…”  
“Hush, they’ve arrived.”  
No sooner had the words left Gigi’s mouth than Bee suddenly felt the presence of several powerful magicians outside. He had occasionally felt the presence of magical power in Booty Bay when skilled adventurers passed through the town; even a simple spell cast near him or a functioning portal just blocks away would leave a sort of trace that magic-users could pick up on. Different types of magic would leave different signatures which would even linger for differing amounts of time. It was known among mages that a greater concentration of potential magical power would leave a greater signature, a more discernible aura, a heavier stink. In the case of these strangers, whose auras reeked of fel and void magic, their sheer proximity cast such a tangible aura in all directions that it was almost suffocating.  
The warlocks had clearly sensed Bee’s presence as well, he could hear the clamor of argument outside almost immediately, with several voices calling for Gigi to explain herself. One by one, the figures entered the room and immediately set upon the goblin with questions about Bee, giving the ogre little time to regard the newcomers before being overcome with an understandable fear.  
There were six in the multi-ethnic group and Bee found himself challenged trying to ascertain their backgrounds even despite his long years of people-watching on the dock of Booty Bay, where every denizen of Azeroth was sure to pass through. Hearing the discontent in their voices and remembering Gigi’s warning, Bee did his best to keep both heads down like a loyal servant should. Even so, though he knelt in the small dwelling, he towered above the newcomers and could easily inspect them as they entered. Before being overcome with a sense of dread, Bee might have joked about their attire. As if their demonic powers did not stink from a mile away, each of the figures was clothed so as to make sure nobody mistook them for anything other than what they were.   
The first and most imposing of the characters was an orc wrapped in red linens. Bee had seen orcs with glowing eyes before, apparently a mark for those who drank more demon blood than the amount necessary to turn their skin green. However, the skin of this one was dark gray, it was clear from the number of grafts and inadequately healed burns that this one must have escaped being burned alive. As if to cement flames into his image, fel fire burned seemingly harmlessly on the back of his neck, giving him a fearsome visage wreathed in green fire. The dancing flames intensified as he bellowed at Gigi, “You bring us to this backwater and we can’t even have privacy here?”  
He was closely followed by a human with long brown hair and a well-trimmed mustache and goatee. His purple garb seemed almost unnecessarily villainous. Despite his demeanor being comparatively cool, Bee saw something especially dark in his eyes, almost as if he were fighting to hold back the same fiery personality that the orc displayed. The human entered the room accompanied by an undead woman who wore plain robes as compared to the rest.   
Possibly the most ridiculous garments belonged to the gnome who, rather than walking in, was carried in the arms of an ominous, shadowy mass which Bee recognized to be a void-creature. The gnome’s skin had a greenish tint to it and was covered in pockmarks; although only his bald head remained uncovered until he removed the set of huge asymmetric goggles from his eyes, exposing two orbs with some mirth yet in their depths. What struck Bee the most about his attire besides the oversized metal specs were the overabundance of chains, spikes and skulls around his glowing spaulders. He showed no sign of actually casting a spell, not a snap, nor a wave when his shadowy transport gently placed him on one of the chairs and faded into nothingness. His voice was shrill, “I agree, this place is worth more to me as a bonfire. Next time, tropics please!”  
Bee barely heard the fifth figure enter the room. This was due in part to the clamor of the others demanding an explanation for the ogre’s presence from Gigi, but also because of the padded paws whose clawed toes Bee saw peeking out from under the long, brown robe which covered his hunched frame. Although the bent posture, the towering, feathered pauldrons and a singularly imposing mask of thick plate armor hid the stranger’s head from view, Bee was certain that this was a Worgen, although he had seen only one such creature before.   
The final character was a close runner-up in Bee’s imaginary warlock pageant. The tall, pale-skinned elf woman strode into the room with confidence and grace, although her eyes were obstructed by the massive metal helmet adorned with a single blood garnet that made her look like Bee’s left head. As impractical as the headpiece seemed, it did not seem to obstruct her vision any more than it did her long ears and eyebrows, both of which freely poked out of the sides. The corresponding set of ebony clothes was adorned by shining blades of some unknown metal that exhibited a strange sheen. The delicate lips and nose were visible and they revealed that the skin was paler than Bee had initially thought. Too pale, surely not another undead? But as he scanned her frame for more exposed skin, he found not the signs of decay visible on the arms of the Forsaken woman. Rather, he was shocked to see strange, black marks up and down the length of her slender limbs. Almost like tattoos but not quite, they oozed void energy.  
The general attitude was hostile to say the least, with the fiery mane of the orc flaring up again as he berated the goblin.  
“What is the meaning of this? Your stinking brute could have waited in whatever hole you crawled out of! Your only job was ensuring secrecy, Gigi.”  
“Cool your jets, ugly!” The boom in Gigi’s voice surprised everyone, even herself. She contemplated it for a split second before pressing her advantage, as the room had fallen silent, even the orc’s fiery mane had died down somewhat, now only licking his ears as he took a seat. Gigi was clearly not afraid of her colleague although Bee could sense that each of the newcomers was a warlock of overwhelming power. It had been a long time since Bee had stood this close to anyone like the orc, whose aura of magical might was like a thick fog filling up the room.  
“We’re here because you idiots burned down the last safe-house after a scuffle about...what was it about Ritssyn?” She was addressing the orc who folded his arms and refused to meet her glare.  
“I don’t remember.”  
“Yeah I bet you don’t,” Gigi’s voice was so strong it almost seemed like she had grown taller. She muttered an incantation to ignite the hearth at the center of the room. As she turned to the rest of the group, the elf sat up in her chair and quickly used a similar spell to send a flame to each of the lanterns hanging on the wall. Gigi feigned sincerity in her voice when addressing her, “Thank you Shinfel. Feels so nice to have some help around here.” The others had not noticed that it was getting dark outside and that cold breezes were flowing in from the door that had been left open, now closed ever so gently by the ghostly hand of the gnome’s void-servant which had popped into existence just long enough to perform the task.   
“It ain’t so easy you know,” Gigi continued, “Coordinating your passive-aggressive communications because you refuse to speak to each other. Finding these meeting places far enough from all of your collective enemies.”  
As she spoke she walked to Bee’s side to unbuckle one of the many small knapsacks from his pack. She opened it and walked to the human and undead warlocks to hand them each a bundle of papers.  
“Booking separate flights for your travels in Outland because when you guys did your little partner-picking exercise you forgot that the Horde and Alliance happen to be tense out there right now.”  
She was interrupted by the human who forced a chuckle before speaking which made Gigi sigh deeply. Apparently she had heard it all before.  
“Booking flights? You needn’t have gone to the trouble dear Gigi,” The man stood up and began gesticulating, Bee heard a distinct, patronizing tone in his voice. “I’ve seen our destination firsthand from the slopes of the Hand on the eve of the Betrayer’s downfall…”  
Gigi’s eyes were aflame by the time he used the word ‘dear’ and she cut him off mercilessly, her voice thundering once again. Bee kept his heads down during all of this.  
“You’ve seen it once how many years ago? You want to open a portal to go somewhere you’ve been once before?”  
The human forced another chuckle although this one was more nervous.  
“I’ll simply follow the ley lines of the land until they converge on…”  
“You’ll follow, the map I just gave you,” she stared at the human until he sat down, then continued, “You all really think this is easy. Mind you I’m doing all of this with Melinda still on vacation and Raitheborne using up all of his sick days and more over the past month even though that walking corpse couldn't possibly get the damned sniffles!” She took a breath to calm herself and returned to the topic at hand, “Warlocks are terrible at administration, you should all be glad you found me and that I put up with you.”  
The orc motioned as if to speak, but Gigi cut him off too.  
“He is here,” she pointed to Bee, who kept his eyes on the floor, “because I needed a hand dealing with all of this and he came highly recommended.”  
“Recommended by who? The Kirin Tor?” The gnome’s remark got a slight laugh from around the room. This time, Gigi didn't quite know what to say before the others joined in.  
“Gigi darling, we appreciate you, we love you, we’d be nothing without you. But this brute is very clearly a spy sent by the Council of Six.” The elf named Shinfel got up and walked to Gigi’s side before addressing Bee, “I can tell. We can all tell.”  
“He stinks of arcana!” The undead woman didn’t bother getting up, or even looking up. She was busy filing her sharp, black nails, “Get him out!”  
“He does stink, and we won’t continue this meeting until he is either gone or...gone,” remarked the orc called Ritssyn, with a slight laugh that brought new life to his mane.  
At this point, Bee looked up from the ground to see that all eyes in the room were now fixed on him. These included the floating orbs of the gnome’s void servant, it was still invisible of course, but Bee knew that it had moved behind him and was waiting uncomfortably close.


	12. A Most Peculiar Year in Hellfire Citadel

Chapter 12: Year 8  
Much occurred during the time Blackheart spent in Hellfire Citadel. He had reunited with a couple of the Shadow Council warlocks who seemed more willing to teach him now that his skills as a magician had advanced beyond the basics. Their help came at a good time, as his training at Dentarg’s side was not as frequent as before due to the errands Ner’zhul sent the ogre to run. At one time, he went on a journey to Frostfire Ridge in an attempt to recruit the Whiteclaw Clan. Whatever Ner’zhul was planning sure required a lot of people; looking out his window, Blackheart witnessed huge cohorts of orcs and ogres pouring into citadel during the first few weeks. When he went out onto the battlements, he saw equal numbers leaving on the other side on a wide, white road that led away from the massive building and over the horizon.   
During his training with the lesser necrolytes of the council, he would often inquire about what was happening, but he would not learn much besides vague notions of some enemy approaching the citadel. Sparring with Deathwail, Nethekurse and Keli’dan on the battlements, he learned how to put the skills Dentarg had taught him to deadly use. Eventually, these three were also called to duty by Ner’zhul but Blackheart was now almost the size of a full-grown orc and was allowed to spar with weapons as well. The Shattered Hand orcs who manned the walls were more than willing to oblige him with training. They taught him to keep his shield up at all times, to twist from the hips while keeping his feet firmly planted and most importantly, to grow out his hair and braid it as any warrior should. He would practice with the guards of the citadel every day to entertain himself while he waited for the council members to return along the white road.   
Months later, they did return along with a great host of orcs and ogres; Blackheart knew it must have been the combined might of the clans that had moved through the citadel months prior. The young ogre made a habit of spending his days on the battlements and towers where he could get a good look at what other interesting things might happen on either side of the walls.   
It was on this day that Blackheart first laid eyes on a dragon. Several, actually. They most closely resembled common rylaks except for their one head and massive size. They were the biggest...things Blackheart had ever seen. And they could fly! But they were not birds, as evidenced by their black, scaly hide which gleamed in the sunlight. Blackheart found himself bewildered as the dragons were bigger, more majestic and more beautiful than he could have conceived of. The gigantic beasts flew from the same direction that the road led and although they could have been upon the fortress within moments, they approached slowly, while circling above a caravan which Blackheart later saw was being led by the same hooded figure who had convinced Ner’zhul to come here. At first, he thought that the dragons were the enemy that the council members had spoken of but as the beasts approached, they made no move to attack anyone. Dentarg told him that they were in league with the hooded figure. Blackheart found it hard to be amazed by the sight of the soaring giants as his sixth sense was overwhelmed by several sources of power on the carts, one eclipsed all others.  
The caravan was surrounded by orcs, but several smaller, thinner, pale figures rode aboard the carts. One of them radiated power which dwarfed that of Ner’zhul and everyone else in the citadel. His ornate clothes covered skin which was almost pink; Blackheart could not sniff out much as his senses were buffeted by the torrents of power that radiated from the tiny thing but he suspected that it was not wearing its true form.  
Perhaps the most surprising part of the entire experience was that the caravan, the pale-skinned ones all but a couple of the dragons left the citadel the very next day.  
Bee spent the few days after that sitting atop one of the towers, just watching the massive beasts that danced in the sky above the citadel. As the days stretched into weeks, he caught glimpses of other flying things in the distance. They appeared in the same direction that the dragons had come from, but they were much smaller, with tiny wings that flapped quickly as compared to the elegantly gliding black behemoths. The strange newcomers kept their distance but Blackheart could see them darting hither and yon at all hours of the day. He had a feeling that the hooded figure who had apparently brought new allies had also brought these new enemies. He also had a feeling that the hour was close at hand, as was the time for him and his master to leave.   
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As the weeks stretched into months, a tower had appeared looming on a ridge in the distance. The tiny thing was built slowly, surely by the hands of the smaller, flying enemies. He had been training with Dentarg one morning but his master had been called away abruptly, when he returned, his expression was morose.  
“The time has come, young one.”  
“Time to leave?” Blackheart knew that they couldn’t stay much longer. If Ner’zhul’s foes had built a stronghold nearby, they had nothing left to do but attack. He was amazed by the things he had seen on these walls, from armies to dragons to the powerful, pale figure. However, if it meant that he could resume life in Shadowmoon Village, he would willingly leave, even if it meant that he had to miss the deadly and exciting finale at the citadel.  
Dentarg nodded, “What’s more, the plans have changed. You will depart with my master and our hooded acquaintances.”  
“No!” the youth had anticipated this eventuality, the past few months had been too strange for all of this to end well, “I won’t go with him! I don’t like your master!”  
“My master now has the artifacts he needs to ensure a bright future for us, little one! You’ll be there to witness it,”  
“I don’t care what he has or where he goes!”  
“Hey! Quit your whining, hey!” Dentarg shook Blackheart’s whole body to get the kid’s attention. With tears clouding his vision, the child looked up at the single head of the Shadowmoon mage, “My master is never wrong and he will save us all.”  
“I won’t leave you!” Blackheart’s temper tantrum was quelled by the smothering embrace of his master as quickly as it had burst from the youth’s lips.   
“You’re not leaving me, I will join you back in Shadowmoon,” Dentarg’s lie might have been easy enough to believe, but he had embraced the young pupil too quickly, too passionately; what’s more, his voice shook a bit too much for Blackheart to believe any of it. He screamed into his master’s chest but the ogre mage would not let him go. The remained like this for minutes on end.  
This was where Bee’s memory began to fail. He could barely remember what his master’s face looked like in these last minutes, contorted in sorrow and grim determination.  
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Eventually, the ogre youth agreed to leave but only because he figured that deception on his part was the last thing his master expected. Having snuck away to hide in the spire of one of the citadel’s tallest towers, he resolved to see then end of this battle. He cast a spell and concealed himself within the shadows of one corner of a chamber, where he had a clear view of the ramparts below.  
He waited for what seemed like forever, although the rising and setting of the sun marked the battle as being just over a day long. The sounds of battle closed in on him. At one point, a cacophony of crashing stone signaled that one of the walls to the citadel’s north side had been brought down by something. The things he witnessed from the tower were best left forgotten.   
Eventually, he felt his master’s presence approaching and followed the hulking figure to the throne room of the citadel, situated in another tower. It amazed him that his master didn’t detect his presence, but the ogre mage seemed exhausted. His hands were covered in dry blood.   
Dentarg sat in a corner of the throne-room and Blackheart’s concealed frame snuck into another. The horrifying sounds of battle began to converge on them. The screams of orcs and other creatures unknown to Blackheart neared the room where he watched his master wordlessly await some unexplained, nameless fate. When Dentarg finally stood up, it was to the pitter-patter of footsteps coming across the bridge which led to the tower housing the throne.  
Another thin, pale figure strode into the tower. This one wore bright robes and had gray hair as opposed to black. He regarded the throne and seemed startled when Dentarg revealed himself.  
"My master is gone," Dentarg’s deep voice held no sign of the vulnerability it displayed the day before.  
The ogre was easily twice as tall as the newcomer, who seemed unafraid, if a bit rattled by the sudden confrontation with the giant. To Blackheart’s dismay, the figure emanated arcane power with which he should have had no reason to fear the ogre. In a moment, he shook off the shock brought on by Dentarg’s sudden appearance, "Gone?"  
"Indeed," Dentarg answered, "He left here some time ago. Even now he is traveling to perform the ritual, while your Alliance is fighting its way past us. We may die, but our deaths will ensure that the Horde lives on, and conquers worlds without end!"  
"Damn!" The pale one cursed, "Nonetheless, if we're fast enough we can still go after him!”  
"You could," the ogre agreed, "But first, you must get past me."   
Having said this, Dentarg raised both hands, from beneath his skin, a green light began to envelop his fingers, "I am Dentarg, of the Shadowmoon Clan."  
"Khadgar of Dalaran," the pale one replied as a purple glow enveloped the tip of his staff.  
Dentarg bowed curtly before attacking. A beam of green light lashed out at the newcomer who dispersed the attack with the glow of his staff. The same glow then erupted from the staff and targeted Dentarg’s heart. Blackheart gasped as his master batted the attack away with a wave of his glimmering hands.  
"We are well-matched," Dentarg’s words were accompanied by a clap of his hands. When the palms separated, darkness spread wide between the opponents.  
"Perhaps," As the pale figure replied, his form was shrouded by the same darkness which had swallowed the rest of the room. Blackheart’s heart was pounding, he couldn’t see either of the figures and no sound escaped where either of them had stood. The tense stalemate lasted for minutes on end; the cowering youth’s attempts at shrinking from the duel for fear of a stray bolt of energy left him pressed against the walls by the archway leading out of the room. His every instinct told him to flee while he could, but he was frozen in fear for both his own life and that of his master. He knew Dentarg could prevail, his mentor was the finest magician he had ever known. But deep in his heart, the child knew better. He recalled the torrents of magical energy surrounding the hooded figures who had strode into Shadowmoon Village as if they owned the place as well as the raven-haired creature who had passed through the citadel with what seemed like enough power burning within him to melt the entire structure. The dragons themselves, the other creatures flitting through the clouds in the west. No, his master was right. Things were changing. The world Blackheart had known had been up-ended by all of these strange newcomers. They were in a different league.  
Blackheart was lost in thought when a sound like the crack of lightning splintered the darkness which enveloped the room. The stranger had found his quarry and as the remnants of void receded, Dentarg’s huge body crashed onto the floor as his opponent raced at him. His staff had become a spear of blinding light which we raised high, clearly planning to bring it down on the ogre’s head. But for all his magical might, the stranger had forgotten about the ogre’s size; as Dentarg rose to his feet the blow intended for his head instead glanced off his thick neck. Flash burned away where the staff had touched Dentarg but in the same instant, he extended his hands and the gargantuan palms slammed into the charging figure, knocking him back across the room.  
Dentarg bellowed in pain and charged but his foe had drawn a sword which sliced his bicep, bringing forth another roar. Blackheart’s heart leapt as his master raised both hands and collected a massive orb of swelling energy, then sank as the same projectile was absorbed into the palm of the gray-maned wizard while he sheathed his sword with his other hand.  
"Thank you, I feel much better now," Three jaws dropped upon seeing the negated attack. The thin wizard now stamped his foot and shook the very floor beneath Dentarg’s feet, who dropped to his knees.  
No.  
Blackheart’s eyes welled with tears as his master inhaled deeply. But rather than force himself onto his feet, the ogre bowed his head.  
NO!  
The blade of the wizard seemed to unsheathe in slow motion. Blackheart wanted to interfere, but something kept his limbs limp. Bee’s left closed both eyes as the sword fell, but his cyclopean right stared on, unblinking.  
Dentarg’s lifeless body slumped forward and sprawled across the floor and suddenly, the paralysis which had held Blackheart in its grips released the enraged child. The wizard had already turned on his heels and was about to exit the room but Blackheart would not let his mentor’s killer escape. He dropped his concealment spell and turned towards the mage, forcing his eyes to leave the pool of blood gathering around his teacher’s body.  
He didn’t know what to do. All he knew was that he wanted the stranger to stop and to go away. In a rare moment of emotional instability, his two heads each went their separate ways in hatching a plan. Too late to save his master, the left opened its tear-soaked eyes and screamed “Stop!” as magics meant to freeze the stranger in time left the fingertips of his left hand. In the same instant, his right yelled “Go away!” as his clenched right fist opened and attempted to send a rift in space to where the stranger stood, an aggressive way of forcing him through a portal to some distant place, Blackheart didn’t care where.  
The stranger’s reaction was lightning-fast, a violet shield flickered in front of him as he turned his head towards the voices. His eyes first narrowed upon recognizing the magics being launched at him, then widened as he beheld the youthful faces of the child.   
It was too late, the clumsy spells Blackheart had attempted reflected off of the mage’s protective barrier and promptly shot back at their source.   
The child froze, vanished, and knew no more.


	13. The Council of the Black Harvest pt.2

Chapter 13:  
“I said, he’s mine!” Gigi’s voice wasn’t as loud as before. Almost but not quite. “The brute can barely levitate a bird and you’re worried about the Council of Six? Since when does Dalaran teach Ogres?”  
Shinfel removed her helmet to uncover bright white eyes, “The world is changing, Gigi. One can never be too sure.”  
Gigi stepped in front of Bee now, as if to shield his body with her own.   
A genuine but still funny gesture, thought Bee regarding the size of her body as compared to his.  
“He’s a friend of my niece’s, who has literally never left the wharves of Booty Bay.”   
“He’s a crafty little mage,” the Ritssyn, “who had a reason for coming here.”  
Bee glanced at Gigi, who looked back at him blankly for a moment before turning back to argue with the others. Her moment of hesitation told Bee that there was no more she could do for him.  
In the moment it took for him to reach this conclusion, the room had once again erupted with angered voices. Only the undead and the worgen remained seated and silent. Tensions reached a fever as orbs of shadow and flame appeared over the open palms of the other warlocks including Gigi. Her voice was now nearing the whistle register, ringing clearly above the shouting of the others.  
“He is my valet!”  
But her voice would not deter the four menacing forms which now approached, yelling all sorts of curses.  
“He is a mole!”  
“He has fooled you Gigi.”  
“Step out of the way!”  
“Let’s see what he knows.”  
Bee decided now was the right time to speak. He stood up to his full height rather slowly at first, so as not to alert the void-spawn behind him which had surely been instructed to counter any aggressive motions he made. With a straight back, the horn on his left scraped the high, tapered ceiling, none of the others stood higher than his waistline.  
With a blink of his left eye, the room fell completely silent. Bee had extinguished not only the voices but the chirping of crickets from outside and the crashing of waves on the shore. Bee felt the void-spawn twitch upon sensing the magic, but as Bee had hoped, it recognized the spell to be harmless and remained poised. The mouths of the warlocks continued babbling noiselessly, their anger would have been fueled by the confusion but Bee’s voice, now amplified by his spell and the lack of competition, proved an ample distraction from their violent intentions.  
“I am Blackheart the Younger, son of the Inciter, founding member of the Shadow Council, the order your gathering mimics.”  
He was incredibly loud.   
All of the warlocks save the undead woman winced and shrank away from him. The sudden reveal of his stature and reverberating basso in combination produced just the effect he had hoped for. He ceased the magic that was preventing the others from speaking, but the room remained silent.  
The others were seemingly buffeted first by the blast of his echoing voice, then by the confidence with which it conveyed the news. Unfortunately for Bee, not so much by the news itself. The silence of a couple of these characters was more attributable to confusion than awe.   
“Prove it!” The orc seemed surprised and relieved by the sound of his own voice returning but he stayed focused.  
“If I may,” he was addressing the Gnome, who gave him a slight nod, Bee felt the creature behind him dissipate. Bee took a knee and leaned towards the orc while pointing at the eye of his left which he closed “See for yourself.”  
Although the orc wore no beard and had shaved his head clean, the wrinkles and his thick, dull tusks told Bee that he was old. Old enough to have at least been an initiate of the Council in the days of the first war. If this one knew the inner workings of the Council, he would know how to recognize fellow members.  
His gamble paid off, the orc knew exactly what to do. He slowly raised one hand and rested his palm on Bee’s closed eyelid. Shadows danced around his hand and when he removed it, Bee’s eyelid displayed a glowing black rune. The rest of the group did not understand, but apparently Ritssyn did.   
Shinfel seemed to recall something, she studied the rune closely. The orc elaborated.  
“This is indeed the mark of the Council, I have had dealings with them before, a student of mine joined one of their splinter-groups. Note that the insignia is backwards, for the glow we see radiates through the skin. In the old days the neophytes of the inner circle would have their eyelids tattooed on the inside. This was a show of devotion, that their every thought was for the council, even as they slept.”  
“They are no longer what they once were. The Shadow Council which I was born into is most like your organization, save for the fact that you have no dark master and your will is your own. You exist to further the practice of the magics which my father pioneered, I want to play a small, unimportant part.”  
A minute of silence followed which was eventually broken by the undead, who had finally stood up from her chair.  
“You mean to say you were a member of the original council? Gul’dan’s council?”  
Bee nodded.  
“Bee,” Gigi could barely find words, “you...you’re a…”  
“I’m sorry for deceiving you Gigi,” this first part of the sentence was the truth, but as Bee spoke, he did his best to don his poker faces as he feigned sincerity while spewing lies, “Understand that this is one of my most personal secrets. It is a past that has haunted me since childhood. Long have I searched for people who could help me find my true calling.”  
“You lied to me!”  
“I concealed my identity, but my purpose remains. I wish only to carry your bags for free,” he turned to the others, “to watch, and learn.”  
“Gul’dan’s council! Pah!” Bee expected the old orc to be on his side but it would appear that he had the first objection, “I often think of magic as akin to technology. That organization may have pioneered our ways but we stand on the shoulders of giants. What could you have to offer us?”  
“Naught but the sweat of my brow, it is as you say. But it is for the same reason that I need your teachings; my masters  
“We aren’t looking for new hires right now,” Shinfel’s voice was cold and without inflection, but her face was alight with anticipation. The hope of crushing Bee’s aspirations so easily was, however, something she would soon be denied. To the surprise of both the elf and the ogre, it was Gigi who rallied once again.  
“I’m hiring, Shinfel! I told you I needed this group to expand if we wanted to take on missions of the kind you guys talk about. Here the universe just drops a former Shadow Council member with no ties to anyone on Azeroth besides my fish-monger niece right into our laps and we refuse?”  
“I don’t care who he is Kanrethad,” the gnome was speaking directly to the human, “we could all tell he is a mage-puppet!”  
The human name Kanrethad acknowledged this and stroked his beard, contemplating the situation. He glanced back at Bee and raised an eyebrow.  
Bee was quick to explain “Of course, in its earliest days, the council had many members who were not warlocks. I was trained by the ogre-mage Dentarg, servant of Ner’zhul,” Bee really was afraid of these warlocks, but he took care to speak hurriedly in order to perfect the illusion, “And to answer your other question, I owe no allegiance to the Kirin Tor. My mentor was killed by one of theirs, the archmage Khadgar. Though I have accepted the fact that I will never have revenge, I still have no love for that human.”  
“Dentarg was mentor to you?”  
“He was like a father to me.”  
Bee was glad to once again have just enough support from Ritssyn to sway the others, or at least prevent one of them from incinerating him on the spot.  
But he was far from his goal yet. The gnome protested again, this time waving his arms as if he were trying to wake Kanrethad from a dream.  
“Take his word for it but this doesn’t begin to cover all of the reasons for why we should kill him right now!”  
“If you wanted guidance in the dark arts, why not seek training in any number of other places?” The undead woman’s eyes narrowed as she studied the ogre.  
“Jubeka makes a good point,” Ritssyn was not on Bee’s side yet, “you must know that the world is more accepting of us than in the days of Gul’dan’s council.”  
Bee had anticipated every protest and now acted contemplative, wrestling with the first few words when he was actually debating on how best to feed the warlocks’ egos.   
“Perhaps...perhaps I do seek revenge, no one else on Azeroth could grant me the powers to carry it out,” he took a long breath before continuing, “But I don’t seek to avenge my father as much as I seek to honor his memory. He was a part of the world’s highest order of warlocks and I know that this group of yours, more so than the small remnants of my father’s group, embodies that same idea.”  
Another minute of silence, Bee sighed and continued.  
“I want to follow in the footsteps of my birth father. To become a warlock worthy of the insignia which I carry.”  
Bee was sure that he seemed heartfelt enough, even the silent worgen’s eyebrows showed sympathy. But the gnome’s face continued to twist in a frown.  
“Your confidence is misplaced, ogre. You’ve convinced us of your identity and determination, but not of your intentions and of our need for your help. I suggest once more that you leave while you still can.”  
Bee now began to truly fear that his plan had failed. Another few tense moments elapsed in silence before Jubeka, the undead woman began laughing hysterically. She doubled over and placed her hand on the gnome’s shoulder.  
“You, you’re going to make him wet himself.”  
“I’m serious!”  
“No you’re not.”  
“I am!”  
“Come on, cut him a break. Ritssyn and Gigi already confirmed his identity,” as Jubeka spoke, she began pacing the room to ensure that all eyes were on her, “and if she was correct then this poor brute has nobody. Nobody save for the memories of his dead family.”  
Bee did his best to hide his elation that one of the menacing figures was on his side, although the last few words made something twitch inside him.   
Heartless by nature, perhaps she was looking for a reaction in my faces. She’ll find none. This is too important.  
“He even entertains a fantasy in which he kills archmage Khadgar, which one of us can say we haven’t dreamed of doing the same?”  
The warlocks held their tongues. In this particular crowd, it didn’t much matter whose side anybody was on, only power mattered. Their silent glances confirmed that none of them could stand the idea of a mage who was more powerful than them by such a huge measure.  
Kanrethad spoke and Bee was glad he did, he seemed to be the unannounced leader of this strange band.  
“I worked side by side with the archmagus against Illidan’s regime in Outland. I entertained foolish thoughts whenever I was in his vicinity.”  
“You’ve been to Outland?” Bee found it impossible not to ask about it, although he bit the last word, recognizing that he was off-topic.  
“Oh yes I was there in Shadowmoon during the grand finale. Your home then, is it?”  
Bee’s left shut its eye and nodded while his right stared into space, musing, “Indeed, I’ve often wondered…”  
“You know we’re going back there pretty soon.”  
“Kanrethad!” The gnome was grinding his teeth, his eyes burned as he looked at first the human, then the goblin, “The reason, Gigi, that we are not hiring is not because we don’t need good help but rather in the interest of secrecy, isn’t that right? Or are we just going to spill the details of our missions to strangers?”  
“I’m aware of your concerns, and have weighed them against my own.”  
“Your concerns? Like carrying your moving container store?”  
“Look at yourself, Zelifrax! You’re worried about secrecy? And don’t tell me you travel in plainclothes because I know you don’t.”  
“So?”  
“So?” Gigi threw her hands up and her face twisted in frustration and rage, “So? Everyone knows who you are, dummy! Everyone knows what you are! Do you want to know why I pick flammable huts in the middle of nowhere for our meetings? It’s because every one of you is bound to have tails! Because you guys know nothing of subtlety. How many skulls and spikes do you really need?”  
Even the warlocks incapable of blushing showed signs of unease following these remarks. Bee tried his hardest not to chuckle, knowing full well the possibly violent consequences of such a mistake. Gigi continued on her tirade for minutes on end.  
“...and if you really care about secrecy, Zelifrax, you’d hire a manservant like me and try your best to look like a merchant or something. Why don’t you get a big-ol spider-tank like the others and walk around spewing smoke everywhere? Anything but this nonsense with the voidwalker carrying you around like a baby. How lazy can you possibly get? If you guys want this group to remain a secret, you’re going to have to put in some effort. That includes you Kanrethad, quit speaking in sonnets! What tower were you raised in?”  
She took a couple of deep breaths after she had thoroughly castigated each member of the group. The chirping of crickets took over once again, the warlocks couldn’t come up with much to say back to Gigi.  
“Look, look. All I’m saying is I don’t even wear purple anymore, it’s too easy of a stereotype. If people see me walk around with this brute and they see the size of his backpack; I mean there just isn’t much else that people think about besides travelling merchants. The world is a different place, warlocks are more accepted than ever and soon we can unmask our group to the world. But first we need to have done some deeds for the good of all and for that, we need to be more established. We need a solid platform, more members, more support.”  
After another breather, the elf spoke up and surprised Bee with a tone that held zero trace of sarcasm or mockery.   
“Gigi this is why we need you. You said it yourself, warlocks are not cut out for administrative work and you know how to move this group forward. We just know how to kill.”  
“Thank you Shinfel, truer words have not been spoken tonight.”  
More awkward moments passed while the eyes in the room shifted from Gigi to Bee.  
“So we are to believe you are more than meets the eye?”  
“Indeed I am. I think I can convince you all that having a member of your group trained in arcana can be quite useful.”  
“How do you plan to do that?”  
“Should we discuss it over a drink?” Bee reached in the largest of the backpack’s pockets to remove the pony-keg he had received from Jang. As he expected, Gigi immediately recognized it.  
“Hold it right there! That ale was to last my niece a good while, not for you to pour down your gullets in an hour!”  
“Rest easy, Jang has her keg. This is a copy I’ve conjured. I trust you have all been recently acquainted with this ale?”  
“Wouldn’t have left the Highlands without a decent supply,” the elf allowed herself a slight grin.  
“So you’ll be able to taste the quality of my powers.”  
Having said this, Bee conjured several cups and a copy of the keg he got from Jang and gave the original to Gigi, proceeding to down the skunky contents of the copy himself.  
The others were seemingly impressed.   
“I’ve seen magi create things from nothing, but always, they were flawed,” Kanrethad, like his colleagues, had little respect for other schools of magic practitioners, “Their bread disintegrates and their minions are not quite real like ours.”  
“This ale has been twice-copied and yet I can discern the subtlest flavors,” Bee was surprised how easily Zelifrax allowed himself to give this compliment.  
“If I may,” Bee clasped his hands together and summoned two copies of himself. His was a rather flashy but simple technique, neither of his doppelgangers were anything more than an image. The three ogres now acted in unison in the conjuring of fresh-baked rolls which the six hands passed to the six warlocks before Bee ended the illusion and returned to one body.  
The group set to the task at hand, it seemed that drinking was one thing that brought this volatile bunch together, Bee had gambled and won. Perhaps the most pints were downed by the worgen who had not spoken a word yet. His silence puzzled Bee but didn’t bother him, as his demeanor was friendly enough. As the bitter contents of the keg began to quickly dwindle, Bee soon found the group singing his praises.   
“It would seem our new friend has surprised us already.”  
“I must admit, that spell you did earlier with your voice, I’ve not seen its like. Perhaps magi have something to offer after all.”  
“You needn’t worry, we’ll teach you a thing or two about your heritage.”  
“And such a pedigree,” Shinfel sounded almost flirty, “I wish I could’ve had him carry the other kegs for me in the Twilight Highlands.”  
“You know Gigi,” Jubeka’s voice trailed off as she looked back at the goblin, “I wouldn’t mind taking Blackheart along on the next mission. Your travels are over for some time and ours are about to begin.”  
“Find your own!”  
“Don’t be so heartless Gigi,” Jubeka turned towards Bee, “you did express interest in Outland, right? It is your home is it not? Who knows, you may have family out there.”  
Jubeka was clearly trying to coax Bee but there was no need, this was what h had wanted. But before Bee had a chance to respond, several of the warlocks began throwing out objections.  
“We are there to complete a mission, Jubeka. We won’t be taking a leisure trip,” the Kanrethad was less calm now, he sounded as if he were nervous at the thought of Bee’s presence near his ‘mission’.   
“Did this newcomer suddenly become our seventh?” The gnome was less restrained, he was clearly unhappy with Bee’s knowledge of the group’s business. But even his discontent paled in comparison to Rittsyn’s, whose fiery mane flared up again as he spoke.  
“This was not our agreement Jubeka!”  
“How does having a student tagging along violate our agreement? Is our entire purpose not to teach our art? Is Blackheart not the first of many pupils flocking to our order?”  
“Yes and students need structure and curriculum. The secrets that we uncover on these missions are for the six of us to master, only then will we decide on how to proceed.”  
Jubeka inhaled to retort but Kanrethad, sensing that the volume of the discussion was indicative of flaring tempers, interjected calmly just before she could speak.  
“Rittsyn has trained and lost pupils before. It is especially important for warlock students to start at the beginning, due to the corruptive nature of our magic. And following in the footsteps of Illidan himself, we will be delving into nothing less than the deepest levels of fel magic. It is best we study first, before attempting to teach.”  
Jubeka sighed with frustration. Sensing that she may have been about to give in, Bee spoke up as softly as he could.  
“I needn’t go near whatever footsteps you’re following. I just want to go to Draenor. I’ll blind all three eyes just to smell the air.”  
This made Jubeka perk up, “See? We’ll drop Blackheart at Shattrath and pick him up on the way back.”  
“Nothing would make me happier.”  
Kanrethad thought for a while and eventually gave his grudging approval after his fifth cup of ale.  
“Don’t worry Gigi, I’ll return him in one piece,” Bee wondered why Jubeka was so excited to take him on the trip.  
“That wasn’t my concern. Did you forget your little death pact pertaining to these quests? What happens to Bee if you two summon a demon that ends up killing you?”  
“Easy fix, we can all agree to exclude newcomers from our arrangement, right?”  
“I agree, Bee needn’t have a death sentence hanging over him,” Kanrethad didn’t bother to explain this ‘death pact’ to Bee, “If something happens to one or both of us, the rest of you should assume that it was during the time he spent in Shattrath.”  
“With that, I think it’s decided,’ Ritssyn approached and snapped his fingers, igniting a flame at his index finger which he used to draw a hand in the air inched from Bee’s left in a clear imitation of the tattoo which he discovered earlier. The two chuckled and Ritssyn clapped Bee on the shoulder, “Welcome to the Council of the Black Harvest.”  
Bee’s right shot Gigi a nervous glance, but his left remained fixed on Jubeka as she approached.  
“I’d just love to live the same fantasy that you described Gigi, a common merchant with an intimidating bodyguard.”  
Gigi corrected her, “His official title is pack mule.”


	14. Losing Control

Chapter 14:  
“The death pact we were discussing, I remember,” Jubeka gave Bee a slight smile as she lit the campfire with a flick of her wrist, “I was wondering when you’d ask. Gigi told me you surprised her with your patience, you followed her blindly for weeks.”  
“She inspired something in me, I’m not sure how to describe it...”   
Bee sat next to an even larger agglomeration of knapsacks than the one he carried before. It, along with the ogre’s body, shielded Jubeka and the fire from the harsh wind. Kanrethad’s snoring could be heard from the sleeping bag opposite him, it was not yet dawn.   
“Somehow I knew I could trust her, maybe it was because a close friend was related to her. It’s hard to imagine that some truly wicked demonologist would have a family.”  
“You’d be surprised,” she replied, “but back to your query. This little group of ours gathered after the defeat of that dragon which I’m sure you saw fly by Booty Bay at least once. We felt ourselves in need of organization. So we decided to form a collective and split up into pairs to research our magics. The ale you so expertly copied was from a trip that Shinfel and Zelifrax took to the Twilight Highlands where an associate of your father’s was recently put down.”  
This made Bee raise a couple of eyebrows but Jubeka waved his inquisitiveness away, “His is a story for another time, you likely don’t remember him anyway. The point is that he was a monstrous warlock, one of your kind actually, and much could be learned from his exploits.”  
Bee didn’t quite know how to tell his newfound associates that he didn’t really have an interest in their magics. No matter, perhaps fate would separate them before the need arose.  
“Now, your council buddy, Ritssyn? I’m sure you remember the orc as well as the silent worgen, his name is Zinnin, the two of them went to a place called the Firelands to research the powers of the elemental lord Ragnaros.”  
Bee didn’t know too much about any of the characters that Jubeka was talking about, but he could guess that such knowledge was not necessary to understand the point she was trying to convey. The morning air was chill but the fire was now starting to warm Bee’s toes. He wondered what it was like for Jubeka, a walking corpse who surely couldn’t feel cold, could she?   
The camp around them was sparsely populated with travelers of all types seeking passage through the Dark Portal, which now loomed over them with a soft green shimmer. It took another few days of travel followed by a midnight portal escape to make it to the red desert known as the Blasted Lands. When they arrived, they were told to wait along with the other groups by the few administrators. At first, Kanrethad protested, voicing that his business had been delayed enough and no mere guard would deny him passage. Bee wondered what might have happened if Jubeka was not on hand to calm him down, as the handful of officials on hand were certainly no match for the warlock, whose temper was shorter by the day.  
“This third trip is obviously aimed at Outland where we will be trying to track town the secret to the demonic power of none other than one Illidan Stormrage, an elf who had somehow undergone a metamorphosis that permanently turned him into a demon. Kanrethad was adamant about wanting this mission for him and myself, I am glad because Outland is still chock-full of demons which I can research and experiment on to complete my grimoire.”  
Having said this, she tapped her own backpack which contained a collection of papers. Bee had noticed that she was unenthusiastic about his offer to carry this particular pack along with the rest. Jubeka may have had a carefree attitude at first glance but one thing she was serious about was her research.  
“It is my legacy and I trust it will be one of the most complete volumes on demonology in the world. Unfortunately this last mission was delayed by several months because Kanrethad came down with a serious case of cholera but you didn’t hear that from me and you better not mention it to him. Now that he’s recovered we can finally get going,” she paused for a moment as if she had lost her train of thought, “But enough background, the reason death hangs above myself and Kanrethad is because we warlocks are naturally distrustful of one another; having paired up, we wanted to ensure that we would not be betrayed by our partners by agreeing to execute anyone who returns alone. Of course you’ll be safe and exempt from this agreement as you need not bear witness to whatever secrets Kanrethad seeks to unlock at the Black Temple. However you are welcome to join me on my tour of Outland as I will be visiting many different places to study many different demons, you need not sulk in Shattrath the entire time.”  
“As you rightly guess days ago, I have my own reasons for returning to Outland so I will make good use of my time alone before meeting you both in Shattrath for the return trip.”  
“Do you actually have family here?”  
“I doubt it and finding them would probably be a more difficult and time-consuming of mission then I am currently prepared for, but I am prepared to seek out some parts of my heritage including my clan and perhaps even my former shadow Council guardians.”  
“You are aware that those fanatics still serve dark masters. They are likely found in the hostile regions of this world.”  
“Perhaps but no amounts of corruption by fel magic can overcome memories of one’s youth. “These people raised me and they will likely be glad to see me.”  
“They will likely attempt to press you into service, do not underestimate the magic which you aspire to master.”  
“I won’t.”  
And don’t get yourself killed, I made Gigi a promise.”  
“I won’t.”  
WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW  
According to the local telemancers, the portal had been undergoing routine fluctuation of power for the past couple of days which prevented safe passage. The next day when they announced that the stability required by protocol had been achieved, a small crowd had already formed in anticipation of the reopening.  
He was impressed by the careful and sophisticated management of the portal given the apparent lack of personnel on site. The guards meticulously enforced the rules that the telemancers explained to the pilgrims, tourists and merchants gathered at the ramshackle encampment. Among these were the transport of certain volatile magical vessels and Azerothian native animal and plant species for commercial purposes. Yet another safety feature was the prohibiting of two-way movement at any one time, this meant that the crowd had to wait until a similar group of travelers from Outland had safely passed to the Azerothian side of the portal.   
They were surprised to see this group lead by a small procession of Draenei guards, at least a dozen of the massive figures marching in unison. Their hooves stamped the rust-colored sands before the steps of the portal and seemed to shake the ground. The draenei were taller than Kanrethad and clearly of a military background, with gold and silver armor that blinded onlookers in the noontime sun. Their shoulders were covered with pauldrons so big they might be used as a shield by any human warrior, and their shields were so massive that Kanrethad wondered if he could manage to lift one at all. The brilliance of their regalia was dimmed only by the lilac gemstones decorating the thick plates. They carried hammers and lances with heads crafted of the same exotic mineral, the larger chunks of which seemed to have some magical property, as they were each orbited by two or three smaller, more translucent pebbles of the same deep hue.  
The guards in the procession drew the eyes of everyone in the crown of people waiting to depart, but despite their imposing frames, shining plate and thundering hoofbeats, they were all but invisible to the three companions, whose gaze was fixed on the human they were escorting. The draenei were flanking a seemingly old mage with an on usually youthful gleam in his eyes which shone in defiance of his completely white head of hair. Though it was difficult to guess his age, the violet covers bearing Kirin Tor insignias were covering a well-built body; he clearly had no physical need to lean on the staff he walked with.   
The magus exuded immense power, all three of them could sense it the very moment that he stepped through the portal. Not only could they sense the power of this mage, it was all they could focus on. The magic was simply dripping from the figure, it was stifling, almost suffocating to their sixth sense.  
All three of them could immediately recognize who stood before them.  
Not sensing the danger, Jubeka didn’t even take her eyes off the procession when she slyly commented, “Well look-ee here Blackheart. Friend of yours? Who’d have…”  
“Archmagus!” Bee’s voices thundered over the noise of the crowds, inciting gasps from both groups. Once again, the sources of noise around the ogre had silenced to further amplify his roar. The howling wind, even the soft hum of the portal was dulled when he spoke.  
As the word left Bee’s mouths, several things happened at once. Even before his exclamation, Jubeka and Kanrethad felt a slight crescendo of power building up around him. When the pair turned their heads to look at their companion, they knew at once that trouble was brewing. His faces were not angry per-se, but they showed a strange determination behind a veil of stoicism. It was almost as if the ogre had seen his fate coming and was resolved to walk headlong into it.   
The two warlock companions saw that less than fifty paces of empty desert separated the mad giant from his quarry and needed no agreement to combine their powers in an attempt to stop this eventuality. But it was not the expressions on his faces that made Jubeka and Kanrethad sense danger. Bee’s hands had begun to glow, his right was violet and surrounded by arcane runes floating on concentric circles which moved like a gyroscope about his palm. His left was stark-white and cloudy and by the time he finished his outburst, the mists around his fingers parted to reveal a massive and ornate truncheon with a wicked head spewing white fire. The object looked strangely alien, with a soft green tint permeating its light-gray body; whatever it was, it seemed more ceremonial than practical and magical energy strangely didn’t seem to emanate from it although its looks convinced the warlocks otherwise. The ogre’s hide had more girth than a human’s, but his knuckles still appeared to whiten from his grip on the menacing weapon.   
Through the different hues of magical glow around his hands, they saw that Bee’s tattoos had also begun to shimmer and change, but rather than radiate light, they seemed to swallow it up. As the markings on his chest and arms darkened, they seemed less and less like a part of his body and more like unearthly gaps in it. Where the tattoos weren’t playing their tricks on the eyes of onlookers, Bee’s skin had tightened over tense musculature which rarely showed due to the thickness of his skin. Now, with anger fueling his blood flow, Bee’s upper body swelled in size and seemed to first become more bulky, then almost sinewy by comparison. His tendons resembled a thick rope beneath his skin, coiling around his forearms and connecting behind his neck; though a cord of this grade would hardly be described as a rope, it was more like a hawser, one of the massive mooring lines he had often seen being braided on the docks.  
Despite the massive buildup of power, the ogre didn’t make a move. Kanrethad and Jubeka wasted no time in channeling void energies to envelop Bee in a hemisphere of translucent shadow. The action was not long in the waiting on the other side of no man’s land either; no sooner had bee’s his hands begun to glow then barely visible violet plane of energy flickered near the escorts of the mage. The guards around the deceptively old-looking figure sprang into action almost as quickly, with five of them forming a circle around the mage while the rest locked their shields in formation facing Bee.  
What followed this commotion was a rather confusing shouting match between the guards and Kanrethad, who tried his best to assure them that Bee was under control and there was no danger. The guards were not very receptive to this information so long as the two warlocks had their hands raised, even though their magics were directed at the shield enclosing Bee. Their cries were attempting in vain to overcome the clamor of the crowds of travelers who were retreating from Bee in every direction. In the meantime, Jubeka was hollering as loud as she could towards and equally unresponsive Bee who remained motionless inside the bubble of shifting void.   
In fact, the only two people who remained silent during this tense panic were Bee and the mage, their eyes locked, unblinking, through two magical barriers. The guards were all Draenei males, imposing figures whom Bee had only seen once or twice since their ship had apparently crashed into Azeroth. These plate-clad warriors stood a whole head taller than the mage but even at this distance, they couldn’t eclipse the eyes of Bee, who stood maybe four heads above them. While his faces continued to show grim and steely conviction, all three of his eyes clearly emitted animosity, possibly even hate. By contrast, the mage had barely any expression on his face. Bee was a fearsome sight to behold but the human seemed wholly unaffected. His face showed curiosity and a rather serene disposition towards the violent, colorful magical spectacle before him.   
After a tense minute had passed, he waved for the captain of his guard, who grudgingly gave the order to break formation. The procession continued towards the encampment. As they did so, Bee’s body relaxed and the glow around his hands began to fade, with the monstrous truncheon in his grip quickly disappearing in a puff of smoke. Kanrethad didn’t lower his hands until the ogre had sat down. When the shield around him dissipated, Bee looked completely broken, his faces radiated sorrow and despondency.  
“What is wrong with you?” Bee continued to sit and brood for a few moments while the human castigated him. Jubeka seemed a slight bit more understanding, but even she couldn’t resist delivering an inconsequential kick to the ogre’s thigh.  
“He could’ve killed us all, you know.”  
“Let’s just go,” Bee shouldered the massive backpack and followed the crowd of travelers already moving up the portal steps. His warlock companions grudgingly followed but not without further protests.  
“...and what of your little toy that you conjured?” Kanrethad turned towards his undead colleague and gesticulated wildly towards the ogre, “I’d very much like to know more about our new friend!”  
“It is a family heirloom,” Bee didn’t turn either of his heads and continued ascending the steps. “As much as I wish to earn your trust, I cannot entrust it to any hands other than my own.”  
“Let’s move past it,” Bee was glad that she took his side. Revealing his treasure to the two warlocks was a mistake born of the rancor he felt for the archmagus. The fog of rage having lifted, he hoped that the weapon was locked safely enough within the arcane vault.  
“What’s the plan once we’re over there?” His attempt at derailing the line of questioning was successful.  
“I will depart to the temple posthaste, although I understand Jubeka will want to begin research and experimentation elsewhere?”  
“I have a whole trip planned,” she turned to a shocked Bee, “You can assist me with my studies on the peninsula, where the greatest concentration of demons can be found. During this leg of the journey you’ll have the pleasure of learning both fel and void due to the abundance of imps and void lords in the region. I’ll take you to Shattrath City before I attempt to travel the rest of the continent…”  
“You wish to separate? But if you do…” Bee’s concern was met with indifference by both of the warlocks.  
“Several reasons. Rest assured, I have taken measures to ensure that we can find each other if we want,” Kanrethad continued climbing and only glanced at Bee again after a moment’s pause, apparently not expecting to see the ogre’s questioning glare persist after so many days of the him being content with a lack of information. With a sigh, the human obliged, “Not only am I confident that Jubeka will do just fine without me, I am quite uninterested in her fate as I’m sure she is uninterested in mine. Our reasons for coming here are beyond the scope of our little club.”  
“He’s right, perhaps you’ve noticed that we are an odd couple to take on this mission together as we don’t quite get along. Kanrethad chose me so that he wouldn’t have one of the others breathing down his neck the whole time and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”  
“We are the kind of people who work best alone.”  
“Besides, my research is my life and completing my grimoires is all that matters to me. I care not if I am put to death after I return, or if I return at all. My legacy will be secure.”  
Bee balked at hearing all of this. He couldn’t believe how matter-of-factly the two warlocks approached this extreme change of plans.  
“And unrelated to these rather uncomfortable reasons, I’m convinced that our particular areas of research differ slightly. You will learn under Jubeka’s tutelage that demonology is a vast field of untapped possibilities. Not all of its focuses are similar or compatible. Given the distances between the portal, the Black Temple and some of her destinations, this is really more of a time-saving measure.”  
As they climbed the last couple of steps, a warm breeze greeted them atop the massive stone platform which served as the base of the structure. Bee paused and allowed the last remnants of the departing group to pass him. The green shimmer of the portal’s magic emanated from the stone and spiraled towards the center, where the color faded and gave way to a foreboding darkness. As the figures in front of him retreated behind the shimmer, the green glow spread around their forms and moved on their skin, like the surface of water on a sinking body. Bee took a deep breath before stepping through.  
Upon arriving on the other side of the portal, Bee’s stomach churned and convulsed. He was glad that his rations in the encampment on the other side were low in quantity and quality. He had also remembered to drink an unnecessary amount of water prior to the portal’s opening in anticipation of the convulsions he now underwent. Jubeka looked back in disgust and kept walking down the first few steps, Kanrethad cursed as he stepped through the portal behind him and beheld the pool Bee had created.


	15. Dealings with Ethereals

Chapter 15:  
After being dropped off in Shattrath City by Jubeka, Bee wasted no time in trying to find a buyer for his treasure. Over the many years that he had practiced magic with it in his possession, he had developed a vague understanding of what it could do but not what it was.   
Throughout his life, Bee had unlocked several different levels to the strange object’s mystery which always changed his perception of what the thing was. At a glance, a novice might think it to be a source of stored magic, this was what the young ogre believed in the days before he came to Azeroth. It was simple to draw power from the shifting polyhedron and cast spells which would otherwise elude the technique of more powerful mages. He knew for a fact that the magics stored in the object related to sound and that the spells that it allowed him to channel manipulated the intensity and perceived source of noises. He could often played pranks on his fellow longshoremen by misdirecting their attention using a voice with a fake origin. Honing his skill in the redirection of sound also helped him to control more powerful spells which concerned the manipulation of objects and energy. However, this was just the beginning.   
It took Bee a while before his attempts at uncovering the secrets of the mysterious object brought the villainous truncheon forth into existence. For a long time, he was fooled into thinking that his treasure was simply a weapon in disguise. It was made of a material Bee didn’t recognize, but it refused to break or even bear a scratch though Bee would try everything from smashing rocks to dulling knives on its surface. It seemed a powerful weapon, but it was even more useful in that his spellcasting became more focused while he wielded it. His control of stronger sounds became more precise while costing him less time, energy and concentration. Yet having firm control of this boon marked a new start to his understanding of the shimmering orb, which now revealed new secrets to him that his fledgling skills couldn’t access before.   
With a mastery over sound, he would glean that sound itself was a powerful force, and that it could be powerful without being loud. Through the object, he learned to use audible phenomena as weapons. Perhaps his most eye-opening discovery occurred when he first likened how it felt to cast a spell which manipulated sound to one which moved the water in the gulf beneath his hammock. Although moving currents was much more difficult, and he never even saw his spells affecting the surface where waves crested, he realized that the key to moving a magical force through the medium of water and air was pushing and pulling along with the currents in each. Bee theorized that this same force could move through any medium and that the earthquakes which frequently hit Booty Bay might fall in the same category. If waves could move through air, water and earth, then the secrets of his treasure could pertain to sound, wind, ocean waves, earthquakes and who knows what else. Although, if the step in difficulty between manipulating voices and the ocean was any clue, he was still a far cry from being able to shake the ground.  
Perhaps the hardest lesson Bee learned from his treasure was that no matter how much knowledge he unpacked from the thing, it still remained a lockbox full of mysteries to him. Yet here, in the land of its origin, he had hope that someone might help him divulge the answers.  
New problems arose once again, however, as Bee found it difficult to decide where to turn. He found himself a stranger in a strange land with no reliable source of support. If he were to take it to the authorities, they might confiscate it. If he were to peddle it in the lower city, he was likely to get mugged or swindled. When he had asked about the length of the trip, the warlocks were quick to tell him ‘we’ll be back when we get back’ but he did manage to get them to estimate their travels to take at least a month or two. He figured he had enough time to figure his problem out.  
He began by asking dozens of city guards where adventurers like himself often found work. Apparently the flood of such travelers had subsided about a year ago. Upon changing his job title to ‘mercenary’ or ‘bounty hunter’ he was directed by more and more guards to the local post office, where wanted posters were placed. He found that the posters were pointing him to a duo bearing the names Zhareem and Mah’duun. They apparently resided in the slums of Shattrath, an area known as the lower city. Bee wasted no time in seeking them out.  
The lower city was a cosmopolitan district where Bee observed many strange races coexisting, their descriptors ranging from feathered to ghostly. In this respect, it resembled Booty Bay and the young ogre felt comfortable among the masses so far beneath the crystalline spires of the citadel. The area was full of noisy markets and shabby dwellings which signaled both poverty and overpopulation. From what he could tell, Bee surmised that the city was a home for refugees of many different conflicts. He did his best immersing himself among the denizens of this area, although he found himself generally regarded off putting to most people. He shrugged and inferred that the ogres of his homeworld were not widely regarded as friendly, a sound assumption. Ogres on Azeroth certainly didn’t inspire neighborly attitudes but they also didn’t get dismissed as hostile savages, given that so many of them worked for either goblin cartels or the Horde. He nevertheless spent many hours speaking to random homeless of various backgrounds, trusting that they had no reason to lie to him. The shantytowns were full of these impoverished elders, people who could share their knowledge about the city and the world with Bee, who practically knew nothing. After all, things had changed much since the days of his youth, he didn’t remember so many different peoples in the old days. He could have afforded a room at the inn but he didn’t mind spending his days and nights with his new, destitute friends who supplied him with information. His questions were plentiful but easy.  
Who controls Shattrath?  
What devastation are all of these displaced peoples escaping?  
Who are those incorporeal figures wrapped in linen like mummies? Are they ghosts?  
There is a complex of tunnels surrounded by gray land. What is it called?  
It took every ounce of his willpower not to visit his old home. He wanted to relive the days he spent in the subterranean compound no matter how dangerous the refugees said it was. His vague memories of what he learned was called the Auchindoun dominated his thoughts. Memories of his first instructors teaching him to light candles and move shadows. Memories of his parents, whose faces he had forgotten. Of his mother’s unsuccessful attempts to keep him from exploring the labyrinth. Of his father, bathed in churning shadows.  
Apparently, the channels were still filled with hostile creatures, many of which were on the city’s wanted posters. Every evening of his first week in the city was spent climbing up to the city center which he found out was called the Terrace of Light. From this landing, he would stare over the canopy of the forest wondering just where his first home may be hiding, cursing himself for not making this pilgrimage before. He would remain there until a guard would tell him that homeless were not allowed on the terrace overnight, his descent back to the lower city via the halls and ramps that bored through the city’s thick walls would be uneventful if not for the beggars and muggers who assailed him fruitlessly.  
The pair he was looking for turned out to stay near one of the other entrances to the city. Bee had learned from a pair of panhandlers that these two were ethereals, a people with whom Bee immediately felt kinship as descriptions of them likened the ghostly figures to goblins. They were apparently the traders, merchants and businessmen of this world. Not only that, but they also had a knack for machines and furthermore combined this talent with an equally natural affinity for the arcane to create truly wondrous feats of engineering. These included archways, coils and lights spewing purple arcs of energy which Bee could not fathom the purpose of as well as a three-dimensional projector that the pair stood next to which featured the various wrongdoers Bee had seen on the wanted posters earlier. Trophies from the holograms seemed contained in translucent, violet boxes at their feet. He spent the better part of the morning sitting with his vagrant acquaintances, staring at the spectral duo.  
These ethereals were some of the strangest creatures Bee had ever come across. Their bodies were comprised of a gas cloud glowing in bright and neon colors that formed a humanoid although Bee couldn’t discern why they took this shape. They seemed completely incorporeal but the gas must have had some property to it which allowed them to wear clothes. They were first wrapped in cloth strips almost as if they were afraid of their bodies drifting off in the wind. On top of these wrappings, one of the figures wore what might be called a robe which even had a hood, the other wore armor and held a pair of glowing, double-sided glaives. Bee could hear them speak and their voices sounded male, although they were constantly accompanied by a strange, echoing wail which preceded the actual words, as did their body language and gesticulations. Perhaps the strangest part was the ghostly images of themselves which lingered in place whenever they moved. It was as if everything about these creatures, from their voice to the movement of their bodies, was delayed somehow.   
Their alien appearance gave Bee pause, although by their actions, they seemed like average public servants. The hooded figure even handled a stack of wanted poster copies and offered to hand them to bypassers, but he was mostly dismissed. Despite everyone else’s lack of reaction to these strange characters, Bee found it difficult to trust anyone with even just the knowledge of his treasure. In the early afternoon, he devised a plan.  
He left the city, cast a spell of invisibility and began walking through the woods, then climbed a huge tree just for good measure. Once he had found a set of branches that were strong enough to cradle his body, he opened his mental safe to summon his treasure, then copied it in much the same way he had done the Wildhammer Ale. The copy was visually equivalent but it held little power. After a few deep breaths, he proceeded to cast a second spell which summoned a mirror image of himself. This doppelganger was quite harmless, short-lived and required most of his concentration, leaving his original body almost useless. Locking the original treasure away safely, he handed the copy to his copy and sent himself back into the city to talk with the ethereals.  
So many precautions and steps.  
On his walk back to the city, Bee suddenly found himself homesick and yearning for simpler days when he didn’t have to think of plans within plans to accomplish what he wanted. He missed Booty Bay and the smell of the sea. He missed his boring job laying keel and caulking timber.   
He missed drinking a lot.  
He even missed Kelsey’s constant scolding.  
Most of all, he missed Jang. He yearned for a companion who understood him like she did. He found himself daydreaming about her while walking through the city gates, all the way to the platform where the ethereals were busy handing out fliers. He approached the hooded figure, whose white clouds wafted out from where his eyes might have been.  
“I believe you’re interested in various artifacts from across the land, is this true?”  
“Many are the rare and precious objects that my clientele seek. You could be the one to bring them to me, mage. In return, I offer that which you covet.”  
“How did you know…”  
“Our very beings are arcane, we can smell it around you,” the armored ethereal didn’t look up, he was busy doing something with his glaives, Bee couldn’t tell if he was pouring power into them or pulling it out. Before he could respond, the ghostly figure went on, “We can also tell you are but an image and that you distrust us. But that's more my common sense speaking.”  
Bee was stunned, but the hooded figure continued without missing a beat.  
“I understand your misgivings in such a city. Please, let me introduce myself. I am Wind-Trader Zhareem and this is my associate, Nether-Stalker Mah’duun. We work for the administrators of the city and wish no resident any harm. Shall we speak more on that which I look to procure today?”  
Bee sighed and revealed the glowing orb.  
“I am Bee, and this might be of interest to you, no?”  
The figure regarded the object for a second while Bee prayed that the duplicate was not as easily revealed as that of his body. Luckily, the one known as Zhareem seemed to hold his breath upon first seeing the moving surface of the white thing in Bee’s palm.  
“Ah yes, you must be a member of the young human’s party we spoke with a couple of weeks ago. I was worried that you might not return. I trust that you didn't go deaf from fighting Murmur? Mah’duun, signal our client for he would wish to be notified posthaste,” Bee noticed that Zhareem was less proficient in the use of the language than his armored partner, “I assume the others didn’t make it back? A pity, but such an outcome was to be expected.”  
Many years of living in a city of goblins taught Bee a couple of things about subtlety and deception. One of these lessons was not to correct a stranger who made incorrect assumptions; although, not wanting to mire himself in lies, Bee simply nodded, then opted to move the conversation along.  
“What in the world is it?”  
“Allow me start at the beginning,” the ethereal opened his palm and Bee gingerly placed the object in it, choking down the almost involuntary urge to protect his treasure, “I have an eccentric client who specializes in the study of dead realities. It is rumored that the being known as Murmur destroyed the last world from which he was summoned. The professor is interested in examining his 'whisper' as he called it to understand how it is that Murmur accomplished such a feat.”  
“So this is a whisper?” Bee was confused, and not only because he had no clue who or what this being was.  
The towering body of roiling clouds.  
For a moment, the image returned to his mind of when he turned the corner in a full sprint to behold his father’s pitch-black figure silhouetted against the stark-white mass of swirling energy which formed the body of the beast they were attempting to tame. If the beast was being hunted, it was likely to have killed his parents in those tunnels. This realization stunned Bee only for a moment.   
“I wasn’t even certain what form a whisper was supposed to take in the physical world,” Zhareem continued, “but the professor assured me that you'd know it when you saw it. Perhaps it is something akin to the being's voice box?”  
Bee sat down to signal to the speaker that time allowed him to sweat the details.  
“A remnant of its power then, left behind every time it makes a sound?”  
“So goes the speculation,” before Bee had a chance to protest, the ethereal’s mummified fingers placed the object in one of the many translucent, purple containers at their feet. As soon as he did so, Bee winced with a tinge of pain. The container was clearly designed not to be fooled so easily by a phony. With any luck, Bee would only have to keep up the casting of this spell for a few hours. All of this went unnoticed by the ghostly duo, who regarded Bee as no different from any other adventurer combating the foes of the city, “but few would know and little proof exists. If the whispers are necessarily left behind by the creature’s voice, then the last whisper must have been lost in the destroyed world. Our kind travels the stars but the probability of coming across worlds which have been visited by this being and were not sent to oblivion are slim.”  
“This professor must be a great traveler indeed.”  
“A more accurate descriptor has not been coined for Professor Dabiri,” Bee was very glad he didn’t have to try hard to pull the information out of this figure. He babbled on while counting the coins to pay Bee with, “He is rarely around unless of course, I can entice him with news like this.”  
As the box with the whisper was placed on the ground, Bee felt that the conversation was over too quickly. He knew that whatever payment he had for Bee would pale in comparison to what the Professor would pay. Although he had to admit to himself that he still wasn’t sure what he wanted out of the transaction, Bee went on with his plan. He had to know as much about Professor Dabiri as he could. Thankfully, over the past couple of days, his homeless friends had given him the skinny on the ethereals and the disagreement between their two major factions. He decided that pretending he was misinformed would surely coax a correction from the overly-polite trader.  
“He is a member of the Ethereum then?”  
“Goodness no!” The fleeting echoes somehow preceding the ethereal’s words were sharply elevated and even his partner looked up.  
“So sorry!” Bee’s gesticulations made a great show of apologeticism, “the other organization then, I must’ve mixed them up. What was it called...the conclave?”  
“No need to apologize, friend. I’m happy to explain. You were thinking of the Consortium, the organization I belong to. We are a neutral faction representing my people’s commercial interests.”  
Bee nodded along.  
“The Ethereum is the ruling class of our former society, they are rather narrow-minded. Professor Dabiri, however, is a member of yet another group known as the Protectorate. They are in active opposition of the Ethereum. They are the ones who disagreed with the Ethereum’s disregard for the other races of Outland in their mad and single-minded obsession with a cosmic hunt for an enemy long since gone. I’ll spare you those details of that tale.”  
Bee didn’t want to seem like the prying type but it took very little coaxing to get Zhareem to spill another hour’s worth of beans. When they were finished speaking, Bee gracefully accepted the paltry compensation of gold from Zahreem.  
“Here is your reward. The professor will be pleased no doubt, though I worry what he ultimately wishes to do with this thing. Come back another time and I will have another request for you to fulfill.”  
Bee returned to the agglomeration of wooden boards, canvas flaps and worn rope that served as a home for so many of the refugees that he had been talking to over the past few days. There, he allowed his mirror-image to fade away whilst keeping his eyes on the spectral pair of figures and most of all, on the copy of his treasure locked in the box at their feet.  
His actual body arrived just in time to witness the box being handed to another pair of ethereals, their blinding white clouds of a bodies was wrapped in equally pristine linens. One was visibly dissatisfied with the cargo, perhaps he could tell that it was fake. The other stood a few paces behind and kept the distance after they left.  
You are in my game now, professor. Play along.


	16. Dealings with Ethereals pt.2

Chapter 16:  
After he picked up the box from Zhareem, Bee followed the figure to another section of the lower city, where the two seemed to have a luxurious pavilion set up. Bee regarded that city guards were close enough to prevent any negative outcomes but not close enough to overhear. When the two disappeared into the tent, he finally dismissed the fake whisper. Having felt the presence of magic, the door flap swiftly burst open and the ethereal following the one with the box stared Bee down as he approached. The one who entered first dropped the empty box to the ground and kept pacing towards back of the tent where some furniture, arcane gadgets and a gigantic crystal waited.  
“Finally, I figured whoever left that in there would show himself sooner or later,” he signaled with one hand and his companion backed off from the doorway, then used magic to unravel a part of the entrance to allow Bee to walk in, as the tent itself was big enough for him, but the entry was not.  
“That which you seek is in my possession,”  
“I’ve no time for your babble, ogre!” The ethereal was clearly annoyed by the deception which drew him to the Lower City. He didn’t even stop walking until Bee unlocked his safe and attempted to stifle the soft hum of his treasure as he had at Dentarg’s instruction so long ago. The slow crescendo of the noise emanating from the whisper filled the air and made the professor slow his steps until he came to a stop and turned to face Bee.   
The ogre was tall and bulky enough to cover the entrance, preventing anyone else from witnessing the confrontation. What little light from the Pale Lady could squeeze into the pavilion around his frame cast an eerie glow onto the linen-wrapped figure, whose white body wafted through his bandages into the darkness around him.   
“I assume you want something.”  
“You better believe it.”  
“Speak then, my time is far too precious for this drivel,” then, finally regarding the object in Bee’s palm, it seemed that the professor’s attitude was instantly changed.  
“For one thing, I want to know why you want this thing.”  
“An interesting query, may I?” Bee’s heads were abuzz with instinct which told him to hold on to his treasure but they were all silenced by the stupefying comments which escaped the figure upon seeing his hesitation, “You’ve noted the proximity of the city guards. We are in the capital of this magic-laden world. Even you, one who has such a close bond with this thing must feel safe enough to discuss fair business like gentleman here.”  
Bee was overwhelmed and decided to finally let go of his treasure for the sake of good manners. The professor held it in his palm wordlessly for a minute. In the meantime, his companion had lit lanterns and offered Bee conjured food, which he refused.  
“You want to know my purposes? This is not likely, but there is no reason not to be civil. I can tell you are no local and it is likely that we will never meet again,” the professor handed the object back and continued baffling Bee with his intuition, “What did the trader tell you about me?”  
“That you research dead worlds. That the being this belongs to is capable of this level of destruction.”  
“Indeed. And let me ask you, magi, are aware of how this came about?” The figure removed some of the bandages from his right hand with his left, allowing the gaseous limb to expand and waft as the wraps unraveled from his wrist to what might be considered an elbow. Bee shook his head and the professor chuckled, “A similar story. Think you that we were birthed by rainclouds?” He gently began to roll up the loose cloth but didn’t put it back around his arm.  
“Stranger things have happened.”  
“Our case certainly was strange. We were flesh and blood like you until our home came under attack by another being who had a penchant for destroying worlds. Dimensius, the All-Devouring. The storm of magic he brought onto our planet was enough to turn us into...this.”  
Bee was amazed by the hand of the creature. The pale gas formed fingers but seemed to expand on a whim until it looked like the professor’s arm was reaching into a cloud.   
“The survivors became nomads, splintering into insignificance, a shadow of our former glory.”  
“But your group opposes...” Bee paused and figured he may as well go out on a limb to reflect the insights that the professor seemed to have about him, “You are no mere academic,” Bee hoped he had not overplayed his hand and to his great relief, the professor laughed aloud.  
“Indeed! Let us cease the charade, you come from a distant land and I can assure you that my own agenda concerns you as little as yours concerns mine. My name is Bash’ir and the Protectorate is little more than my own means to an end.”  
“Seems too complicated for me.”  
“Suffice it to say that the politics of my people may be complex but at the end of the day, we all just want revenge, don’t we?”  
“You’re asking me?”   
“Oh yes...”   
Bee’s poker faces were faltering. The ghostly figure had no eyes but something stared the ogre down from the gap in the bandages where they should have been.  
“We have both been wronged, my friend. And neither of us has a chance against the wrongdoers,” Bee hadn’t even realized that the figure kept unraveling his bandages and was now bare to his shoulder. He was too enthralled by the professor’s words and their implication.   
How did he know?  
“But hark, for in the face of such adversity, we have the opportunity to help each other. The whisper you carry is incredibly rare, for the power of Murmur rarely leaves a world intact. What happened to the Auchindoun was incredibly lucky.”  
The professor had now placed a ghostly hand on the surface of the tall, perfectly smooth facet of the gargantuan crystal inside the tent. The magics of the minerals were obviously potent but intangibly alien to Bee. Whatever they were, the professor seemed revitalized, even empowered by it, as evidenced by the strength of his voice and the rejuvenation of color in his gaseous body. It now glowed brighter.  
“What do you plan to do with these whispers?”  
“I think you know that that particular detail doesn’t concern you. Focus your concerns, rather, on your price. I am a great lord and can pay you with whatever you desire.”  
Bee was nervous. His whole life, he had been preparing to cash in on his treasure but with the opportunity in his grasp, he was once again beleaguered by the same incessant question Kelsey had always bothered him with.  
What do you want?  
“What shall it be, magi? Gold, Apexxis, slaves?”  
“Revenge,” Bee’s heads said the word in unison, the ethereal would have smiled if he could have.  
“If you are as great a lord as you say, you’ll have reliable individuals at your disposal. Vengeance may be out of my own reach but just as I can give you something to help you, I’m sure you can give me something to help me.”   
“Say no more,” he beckoned to his silent follower, “The Grand Collector is yours to command.”   
Upon hearing this, the hooded figure turned suddenly towards Bash’ir, as if to question the transaction. To Bee’s surprise, the echoes preceding the voice of this ethereal were of a higher pitch. It sounded unmistakably musical and delicate.  
Feminine.  
“Master...”  
Bash’ir anticipated the protests and slowly turned his head towards the hooded ethereal as his hands stopped their methodical unraveling of bandages.  
“Dare you question...”  
“No master,” The response came hurriedly, fear was evident in the bodyguard’s voice.  
“You belong to him now,” he continued the meticulous work of unwrapping himself and returned his gaze to Bee, whose stunned expressions were clear indicators of his surprise upon suddenly and unexpectedly becoming a slave owner. As Bash’ir continued, the bodyguard walked over to Bee and stood slightly behind him, “Rest assured, ogre, my valet is the finest magician on this side of the Dark Portal,” he turned his gaze towards her for one last time, “and she serves...without question.”   
“You um,” Bee stammered, “you are too kind. Your whisper, as promised.”  
Bee felt a tinge of regret as he placed it in the palm of Bash’ir’s uncontained, translucent hand.  
“I wish you luck.”  
“And I you,” the ethereal almost seemed like he wanted to wink as he finished with, “and good hunting, eh?”   
Bee smiled, nodded and exited the tent, whose door had been levitated open by his new ‘helper’. Bee may not have liked the term ‘slave’ but he had to admit, he felt like he was living quite the luxurious life when the door opened for him.   
Outside the tent, he quickened his pace to put distance between himself and the entirety of what had just taken place.   
Having a junior companion was a strange feeling for Bee. He first had to focus on getting used to her footsteps and voice, as well as the strange echoes of both. The phenomenon had Bee distrusting his eyes and ears. He was especially unnerved by the noises preceding her words.  
“It is not wise to attempt swindling my master.”  
“What?” Bee was genuinely surprised, “The whisper was genuine!”  
“Genuine but empty, my master has removed the weapon.”  
Is she referring to me or him? Damnable formal grammar!  
“The weapon!”   
“My master has successfully removed it and handed my master its container.”  
Bee had done no such thing. He always thought that the weapon was tied to the object, but upon opening his mental safe he saw that she was correct. He felt his fingers grasp the familiar hilt…  
He quickly dismissed the weapon and pressed for information, “But the other containers were empty?”  
“Few whispers exist but those that we have been researching indicate that the being known as Murmur uses a weapon to focus his power. This world was lucky, the whisper was big enough to hold the weapon but small enough to leave the world intact.”  
Bee was surprised. If she was right then he may have angered his customer.  
“Quick, let’s go to Azeroth.”

 

As his first instinct was to run, it was only after another stomach-turning experience on the steps of the Dark Portal that Bee’s minds were flooded with questions.  
What else does she know about the whisper?  
How did she know the whisper once held the weapon but that it was empty?  
Why did she help me escape?  
As he directed his questions at her, she conjured crackers and water to soothe his stomach. Bee could hardly speak without gagging but his curiosity just stumbled on an undiscovered landscape.  
“The whisper is no mere sheath for a sword. It is more than a container, the weapon is a piece of something greater!” He was mostly talking to himself, refusing to believe that something in his possession since the age of five was so completely misunderstood.  
“The whisper is a container, though my master is correct, it is no mere sheath for a sword. It is meant to contain Murmur’s entire body.”  
Bee was dumbfounded, “How do you know all of this?”  
“I am known as The Grand Collector because of my role in collecting those items my master covets. I collected no less than three other whispers for him and researching their energies was an exhaustive effort.”  
Bee paused for a moment. Perhaps this new companion was more valuable than he initially thought, “Tell me more.”  
“Like I said, that world was lucky. Whatever prevented Murmur from fully coalescing also prevented much greater destruction, while at the same time separating the partially formed being from the fully formed weapon.”  
Bee’s faces radiated confusion, among other things. He was still struggling to shake off the nausea and lightheadedness.   
The Grand Collector continued, “Just as we might use our hands to open a door. But if someone on the other side were to slam the door upon our wrist…” Bee’s continued expression convinced her to abandon the metaphor, “Perhaps not the best translation but this is what happened.”  
“Your master, he can tell?”  
“I could.”  
Bee’s right still radiated confusion but his left had actually smiled when he said, “Something tells me you may have been more involved in this research than he was.”  
“My master was heavily involved,” Bee was one step ahead of her and interrupted.  
“Yeah, yeah, but you let him be fooled for the moment.”  
The Grand Collector was silent.  
“Which means you honestly thought he may have been truly fooled.”  
“As my master says, for the moment,” her tone heavily implied caution, as if Bee needed to prepare for Bash’ir’s wrath. Despite this fact and the very real threat it posed, Bee sensed something between the lines from her tone of voice.  
“Maybe a moment. Maybe just long enough for you to escape him?”  
Echoes sounded but his new companion didn’t say a word. Bee smiled and knew he had struck true. This was one of the few moments where his heads would disagree over whether to press the issue or not. He often would, as he did now.  
“Maybe you saw me and it was love at first sight. You orchestrated this whole trade!”  
She finally chuckled at that.  
“Oh good, I thought for a second that you guys didn’t have the organs that allowed for laughter, that would've been a downer.”  
“My master must be very young.”  
“Old enough to drink. Not too young for you I hope,” she laughed aloud this time, Bee continued, “What? Are y’all immortal or something? How young are you? Don’t tell, me, I want to guess.”  
“That is for me to know and my master to find out.”  
“Yeah great. It’s a good thing your previous job was research assistant, I might have you help me with the investigation.”  
The laughter helped Bee forget about the possible danger but he was less afraid by the moment. He surmised that if she thought she could get away with this right under the nose of her owner, there was no reason for him to feel like he was a target. After all, he did work for the most powerful warlocks in the whole world.  
Which reminded him of his other travelling companions. Jubeka and Kanrethad had told him that he could return to the council at any time, he saw no reason not to do so now. He had been given a meeting place to return to, he fumbled for the scrap of paper it was written on in one of his backpacks. While his right head was lost in thought concerning the fates of his warlock companions, his left looked at the bodyguard with pursed lips.  
“What would you ask of me, master?”  
The wording gave Bee another dose of reality, he pondered how he would face it.  
“You can call me Bee if you prefer.”  
“I don’t.”  
“Very well,” Bee was hiding shock, he didn’t quite know how to bring it up again, “but what should I call you? The Grand Collector seems like an onerous title.”  
“It is my name.”  
“Not the one you were born with, was it?”  
Bee recalled what Bash’ir had said about the origins of the ethereals. These people must have been ‘born’ at some point and even those born as slaves would have a name besides their professional title. But then again, Bee didn’t know anything else about ethereals, so he decided to hold his tongue; that is, until he got the hilarious idea to call her ‘granny’ instead to imitate the abbreviation of his own name. She had no opinion on the matter no matter how high Bee’s voice got in his attempts to break her figurative poker-face.


	17. Three Years Later

Chapter 17: Year 33  
Three years passed and the Council of the Black Harvest had become the group that its founders had always wanted. They had droves of new recruits, organizational clout and best of all, a new and permanent headquarters situated on no less than a legion world. The acquisition of this villainous command post was something Bee had admittedly missed, but apparently it resulted in the death of Zelifrax. This combined with the earlier loss of Kanrethad on the very same trip Bee had accompanied him on meant that the group needed new members, two had filled the empty seats, one of whom took on Kanrethad’s role as leader.  
This warlock, known as ‘the sixth’ and ‘the netherlord’ and by many other names besides was an enigma to Bee. They had never met but Bee found it incredible at what level of obedience everybody showed. This was the same group whose meetings had so often ended in harsh words, duels and incinerated safe houses. It was not just obedience, it was trust. Bee felt sorry that he was not around for the adventure that must have facilitated this bonding. The war with the demons had kept him busy, and on the frontlines rather than on the secret missions which had given the group of warlocks their base of operations.  
Their new home was Dreadscar Rift, which they had taken from a powerful demon which gave it a classic villainous look that the six leaders all agreed on. Its remote location in the great dark beyond was the key to heightened security. Bee and Granny were the only two people allowed through the entrance portal who didn’t happen to be warlocks or demons. In a strange twist, the two mages were sent to represent the Council of the Black Harvest in the Armies of Legionfall during the second assault on the Broken Shore. Bee’s participation in the campaign was instrumental in bringing the Council into the public view in a good light.  
“You wouldn’t believe the clout we’ve got now! Look at this place!” Gigi was skipping and dancing her way through Dreadscar Rift as if she were a little girl. As she rounded a couple of twists and turns, Bee turned to Granny with a beaming pair of smiles.  
“This place is remote and Bash’ir can never find us here!”  
“This place is a pebble floating in the beyond. Surely you do not wish to live here, my master?”  
“Well…” Bee surely did not wish to live here but he wasn’t sure what else do. He was certainly glad that his companion had scaled back the formalities from ‘my master’ to ‘you, my master’. Baby steps.  
“It must be smaller than Shattrath, smaller than the Lower City even. You’ll get bored.”  
Bee attempted to size up the place with magic. He could’ve summoned a floating eye but he learned a better way long ago. The blind bats of Stranglethorn Vale used their voices to find food and avoid flying into walls. Bee could use waves which bounced off the confines of Dreadscar Rift to map the area in all its dimensions. He noticed a few things as he did so.   
Firstly, Granny was right again. The legion world turned out to be no more than a few caves. Perhaps this was the reason why Bee felt such tremendous magical power in the close vicinity. He would allow for the source to be a surprise.  
“Come on, hurry up you guys,” Gigi’s head poked around one of the corners with a gleeful smile, “I wanna show you the coolest part!”  
Gigi disappeared into a crevice again, clearly knowing this place by heart. As they descended further into the cave, Granny lit the end of her staff to provide light for Bee’s right before he even had a chance to squint to see as clearly as his left. Bee loved having a companion this attentive to his needs.  
They found Gigi standing near an archway rimmed with runes in the wall. The door built into the wall was clearly magically sealed and Gigi spent a minute or two moving from rune to rune in the attempt to unlock it. Bee could sense immense power from the locks but an even more enticing mystery leaked through the door. Bee could smell that the archway led to a source of considerable power. Various powers.  
Familiar powers.  
“Ready?”  
Gigi was literally shaking with excitement as the door opened to reveal a long, tight chamber which resembled an apothecary. The walls were lined with reagents from empty soulstones to dried herbs and arcane dust to jars full of assorted body parts that Bee did not recognize. The floor was littered with weapons and uniforms for the initiates who would certainly be training in the new headquarters.   
“I’m the official quartermaster!” Gigi threw her arms up with delight and skipped down the length of the narrow room past shelves full of the items that the members had gathered for council use. Bee recognized the piles of stuff he himself had collected during the campaign on the Broken Shore. The demons he slew there all guarded the valuable items he would bring back to Ritssyn by the boatload. Now, however, Bee had no interest in any of these mundane crafting reagents. He followed Gigi to the end of the vault which was lined with glowing pedestals, each of which housed an artifact of great power. He was amazed, there must have been a dozen or so items in the chamber. Bee walked past weapons, books and trinkets which he did not recognize to stare at the two items which were giving him déjà vu.  
One was a small purple crystal ball whose facets sent rays of light in all directions. Beyond this, Bee saw a book with a raven on the cover. When he beheld both, Bee could finally zero in on why he was feeling this great sense of familiarity. It was back on Draenor that he had first felt their presence. They were there on the caravan that had arrived with the dragons, though he could barely remember. It wasn’t just a long time ago, he wasn’t just very young; the reason he could barely recall what being near the objects felt like was because their magics were eclipsed by the pale figure who had left with most of the dragons.  
Bee recalled his conversation with Dentarg concerning Ner’zhul. His master had told him that the old shaman needed artifacts to accomplish something. These must have been in the citadel, even as a youth, Bee could feel them through the walls.  
“The sixth retrieved these while thwarting a ritual for the opening of many more portals to demon worlds.”  
“I heard of that mission, things would’ve been much worse for those of us on the ground if it was not a success.”  
“Yup, there was a third item involved but it had to be drained. Pity, my collection here seems incomplete.”  
Bee was no longer listening. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the two familiar artifacts.  
He recalled the words of his mentor, ‘My master is never wrong and he will save us all.’  
Dentarg had placed all of his faith in the very objects sitting before Bee. The ogre’s two minds bickered over whether this was chance or fate.  
When Bee and Granny walked through the portal which led them out of the legion world, they found themselves back in Dalaran, the floating city, where they visited a bar that they became regulars at during the war. From a balcony above the magus Commerce Exchange, they stared down at the shore of Aszuna where they had spent so many days fighting the hellish forces of a thousand worlds.   
Bee spoke with his right as he did so rarely nowadays, perhaps he only got the opportunity because he gagged his left with a mouthful of ale, “I’ve made an important decision today and I wanted you to be the first to know.”  
“You seem troubled, my master.”  
“I’ve been avoiding something for a long time. Could be my fate, or my stupidity. I’m not sure, but I have to find out,” he looked up that the spires of the Violet Citadel while he spoke, “and to do that, I will need to up-end your life once more.”  
“This is a pity, my master. Wading in demon blood has brought a certain stability to my life,” Bee Bee looked deep into the swirling void where her eyes would have been and took her silk-wrapped hand in his. He and Granny had bonded after three years of fighting demons side by side. Her humor was still veiled and her tone was still formal but signs of familiarity began to shine through in her speech.  
He spoke with his left, the difference becoming instantly recognizable, “I will attempt to preserve my relationship with our bosses, but it is unlikely that they will oblige. In this case, I will act against them and they will consider it an act of rebellion,” Granny gave Bee’s gargantuan hand a slight squeeze, the ogre continued with his right, “I wanted to give you the chance to jump ship while you can. I don’t wanna put you through all this again.”  
“What’s that? Will my master become a fugitive once more?”   
“That’s not the life I wanted for you, or our progeny, if it comes to that.”  
“Then why do these things? My master does not seem like he was when we first met.”  
“Have I changed so?”  
“Listen to yourself.”  
“I owe you an apology. I hate to make you feel like you are once again hiding from somebody whom I have made our enemy through my own selfish actions,” he sighed and considered his words carefully, “I owe you so much more than an apology. You have kept me sane these past years and I want nothing but the best for you. I want you to live a life free of these worries that I bring…”  
As he began to flounder mid-sentence, the unthinkable happened. Bee never would have thought it possible but she interrupted him, “Hush my master. I will not leave your side for any job. My master forgets that he is my job.”  
He appreciated these words, they were exactly what he needed to hear.  
“Good. Because as it happens, I could use your help. I promise, it will all be over soon.”  
WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW  
“The Kirin Tor are to blame!”  
The seat of the sixth was empty but the Council of the Black Harvest was chock-full of new members including administrators, assistants and trainees. This allowed its executives, including the undead and dwarf archivists Mile and Melinda as well as mission strategist Gakin to attend a meeting like this. New leadership members were also present including Rittsyn’s former pupil, Kira as well as Lulubelle, the sister of the storied warlock Wilfred Fizzlebang. Bee was initially hopeful and glad that finally, the council looked like it was supposed to. But he soon found out that the members present had a rather cold disposition towards him. Although a long-standing member and a high-ranking official within the organization, Bee’s decision-making powers were nevertheless constantly undercut by the network of authority which had manifested above him.  
“Your animosity towards Khadgar cannot be tolerated by the council. If you wish to put actions behind your words,” Mile Raitheborne’s voice was completely devoid of passion. He sounded to Bee like an automated message from a user’s manual for gnomish tech, “then we must officially condemn your intentions for the good of the Council.”  
“Ever have I served the good of the Council! A pity that I spent too many days on the battlefield and not enough behind a desk! Perhaps then I would have authority to do what I must for the good of the Council.”  
“Please! Sabotaging the Kirin Tor does not serve our interests, they were our allies through the war, we have common goals!” Melinda seemed more invested in changing Bee’s mind.  
“We had common goals before the fall of the Legion!” Bee began pacing up and down the gray chamber, “With the defeat of Azeroth’s greatest enemy, what do you think will happen next? Think you that the Horde, the Alliance, the Kirin Tor and the rest will join hands and heal the world? It will be a free-for-all! A battle for control!”  
Bee waited for a response but none came.  
“Who is the best-situated to win that battle? The Kirin Tor! They will scheme to run the world from behind the scenes if we do nothing. They will condemn us in the end if we cast our lot with them. Proactive measures, preemptive actions, taking the initiative; that is what serves the good of this council.”  
“And all of this has nothing to do with your personal fixation?”  
“What do you know…” Bee’s anger was spurred by his momentary confusion but he was quickly enlightened by Gigi, whose soft voice immediately silenced the outraged ogre.  
“We know that there is something you’re not telling us,” Jubeka’s voice was sorrowful, “Sorry kid but even if I hadn’t returned…”  
“Our new leader recovered her journals,” Shinfel bit her lip and adopted a much too charming tone of voice, “they spare no details about the little...episode you had near the dark portal.”  
“Such a sleeper-agent. I never would’ve guessed!” Bee knew that it didn’t help him, but he appreciated the veiled approval he discerned in Ritssyn’s voice. Old hatreds died hard when it came to orcs. Bee would’ve ventured to guess that Ritssyn would’ve cast his lot in agreement with the plan if it wasn’t for the damnable amount of respect the entire group showed the newcomer.  
“Childish games! I will have my vengeance of my own accord!” Bee had noticed that lately, his left had been pontificating, rather than speaking. The cyclopean head was starting to sound like Kanrethad had in days long past. The ogre noticed this, yet didn’t much wonder what prompted the change, or why he was able to live all these years without so much as a thought to the archmagus but was now aching to get payback. It was a crazy plan with no chance of success, he knew this, he had always known it. Why was he becoming someone else?  
“Don’t try it Bee! Your foe is beyond you and we can’t...we won’t help you.”  
“The war against the demons was won with your blood! A second invasion plot foiled by your efforts! Take pride in your victory, now is the moment to assert your position before the whole of Azeroth!”  
Bee’s declaration was greeted by dead silence. His heads turned left and right frantically to attempt making eye contact with the others but none of them would oblige him, not even Gigi. He had already worked himself up and was breathing heavily but after a minute of blank stares, anger roiled in him once again. His breathing quickened as he prepared to unleash one last torrent of insults which only the docks of Booty Bay could teach.  
“...all of you! Gutless worms! You sit on your otherworldly throne, content to play second fiddle to the Tirisgarde as the floating city dictates the new world order in the wake of your triumph! Does it take a mage to show you how to act like warlocks? What a fool I was to think you aspired to become what the Shadow Council was…”  
As his tirade continued, tears welled in Gigi’s eyes but she kept them fixed on the table in front of her. It didn’t take long for the ogre’s new assistant to open a portal which Bee used to make a rather undignified exit.  
Mile Raitheborne coldly continued the meeting, “Shall I revoke his security clearance?”  
“Give him time guys, I know he’ll come back around,” Gigi’s comments drew raised eyebrows from the other members present. They may not have known the depth of their relationship but they could certainly guess.  
“Very well,” Mile dipped his quill in ink, “moving on. Any open items? New business?”


	18. Betrayal

Chapter 18:   
That very night, Bee brought Granny back to Dreadscar Rift to exploit the fact that a majority of the leadership was off on business following their congregation for the monthly meeting. Bee was a powerful sorcerer but he was nowhere near as disciplined, methodical and knowledgeable as the ethereal. Her familiarity with various magics was indicative of an education which put Bee’s to shame.  
She had disarmed some half-dozen or so traps and alarms on their way to the quartermaster’s vault that Gigi had showed them earlier. The place wasn’t deserted but everyone in it either knew Bee by name or had seen him either stalking the halls of Dreadscar Rift or wading in demon blood on the Broken Isles. Nobody questioned him and Bee was certainly past the point where he would explain himself.   
As they rounded the last corner to behold the archway wreathed in glowing runes. Each character must have been a seal of immense power but Granny was confident that she could unlock them.   
“Don’t touch anything, master.”  
“This part is all you,” Bee held up his hands to signify that he wouldn’t foolishly trigger any alarms. He was right to do so, for almost every step that Granny took was followed by a pause during which Bee froze while his companion either disarmed a trap, neutralized an alarm or ensured that nobody was coming towards them. Bee created a cone of silence around them but was afraid to do much else. No mistake could be permitted to hinder his chances now.  
Moving at a glacial speed, they finally stood before the vault and Granny raised both hands to begin picking the magical lock.  
“Master, I will begin channeling now and it will take me at least a couple of minutes to finish. Guardians are sure to appear, dispose of them quietly.”  
“You know I’d never let harm befall you, Granny.”  
Bee took a moment to make sure that the cone of silence he had summoned was airtight before positioning himself back to back with the ethereal, whose slender body was now the center of a churning magical twister. He kept both heads looking around, scanning the room while sharpening his ears for any sign of danger. He had been waiting for a quiet minute by the time he began to weight the advantage of appearing in plainclothes to remain undetected as compared to the protection that armor would have provided in this situation. He muttered an incantation which would shield him to an extent, good enough. At least he had time to stretch out his limbs in preparation for a fight.  
Too late! With a low hum, two portals opened simultaneously behind his companion, portals leading to indiscernible darkness. He waited for a tense moment while the swirling rifts expanded, then charged directly at one of them.  
A felguard which stepped through was almost as tall as Bee and clad in heavy plates of armor but he was no match for the momentum of the ogre. Stepping into existence, the demon barely had time to blink before the ogre’s massive foot sent him flying back through the portal. Bee could feel armor and bones cracking beneath his heel but he had no time to savor just how well this opening move had worked. He could hear the second demon to his right turning to see its comrade being launched out of sight. Weapon raised, the demon pivoted to face Bee but the glowing fist of the ogre was already upon him. The demon staggered from the first blow which glanced off of his shoulder but Bee’s advance was relentless. Its weapon was quickly caught in the ogre’s left hand, who yanked at it to expose the head it was guarding. Bee opened his left fist, then closed it again; in an instant it was covered with a thick, jagged coat of ice. An uppercut landed squarely on the felguard’s jutting chin and shards of the shattered ice flew everywhere as the demon landed against the wall.   
By the time Bee had turned around, two more had appeared between him and Granny along with a floating squid-like creature with too many eyes. While the felguards attempted to body Bee, the squid kept its gaze fixed on the ethereal and with a deep breath, its eyes began glowing.  
Bee knew he had moments before his companion was attacked but the lances of the demons before him kept him at a distance. When the one on his left stabbed forward, Bee caught the weapon with his left again and summoned a mystic bolt in his right, which he hurled over the head of the second felguards at the squid. The projectile only nudged the fleshy bubble that was the demon’s body, but it was enough to interrupt his attack. Certain that he had bought a couple of precious moments, Bee jumped higher than either of the felguards would have believed possible and brought his bulk crashing down on the first demon, whose lance remained in his grip. He used it to parry the attack of the second while sending another bolt at the demon whose eyes had begun to glow again.   
The felguard’s second strike was more powerful and Bee was still in a kneeling position from having tackled the previous foe. The two lances scraped along each other’s bodies, but Bee rearranged his fingers to grab the second one at the point where their poles met and yanked that one too. The demon would not be disarmed so easily and planted his feet firmly. Before making his next move, Bee sent yet another missile at the floating demon which shook off the attack and began preparing to attack the ethereal again. With time running out again, Bee roared and yanked at the felguard’s weapon with all his might while making a show of throwing the other one aside. The demon smiled slightly and switched its footing, attempting to use the ogre’s own strength to run him through with the weapon. It was not to be, the weapon grazed Bee’s belly and the lunging demon’s face was met with a headbutt from Bee’s right. The force with which the two met floored the demon and caved its face in. Before the right head was even brought back up, the eye of the left had focused on the floating demon, with a blink of Bee’s great eye, a shield of energy appeared over the eyes of the monstrosity which glowed red around its edges as the demon’s attack reflected into its own head. Organs and blood spurted in all directions as the lifeless body fell out of the air.   
Now Bee’s right head was back up, long braids had flipped forward during the headbutt and now hung around his eyes but he could make out the next two felguards appearing. His right hand still clutching the lance, Bee stood up from his kneeling position, leaned back and hurled the weapon at one of them while casting a spell to blow the eardrums of the second. The lance was parried but the spell struck true and the second guard fell to his knees, clutching his head. The first charged at Bee but was met by a mystic bolt. Bee now stayed between the portals and Granny, concentrating on sending projectiles at anything that came through or got back up. The room soon became littered with the bodies of felguards either dead or dazed. His volley of arcane energies was only interrupted when an all too familiar voice rang out.  
“Bee! No!”  
Gigi had turned the same corner where Bee and Granny had entered, her face showed everything from shock to horror to disappointment. Bee’s eyes welled with tears but he did not hesitate. He used an excessive amount of energy to incinerate the last few deafened demons who were tripping over the bodies of their comrades. As the portals had begun to recede, Bee turned to his friend and raised both hands in an inharmonious series of motions which hinted that his two heads were acting independently and did not coordinate. Gigi’s arms were bound by glowing cords, her eyes covered by darkness and her head filled with various buzzing noises which prevented concentration. Bee’s right gagged her and tied her legs as well but the efforts were hindered by his left, which allowed her to walk and speak though she could barely hear him begin to sermonize worse than he ever had before.  
“Twice, chance has led these artifacts to me, the hands of fate will not be denied!” Bee’s fervor now had Gigi’s backpedaling towards the runed archway.   
“You won’t get away with this!”  
“Perhaps not, my thirst for revenge will be sated nonetheless, with the blood of the Archmagus!”  
“You don’t have to do this Bee, please! I know you, I know you know better. Please!”  
Bee’s tears began to flow long before Gigi’s, it would seem his emotions were far from as contained as usual. Bee had shed the first tear upon seeing her and now his face was a reflection of despair.   
Whether her tears were likewise fueled by emotional stress or involuntarily welling up due to oxygen-loss, Bee couldn’t say. Her jade-green skin had given way to shades of blue and black during the fleeting moments before her eyes lost their light. Bee was just glad that he was sane enough not to let his love for her prolong her suffering. He bit any feeling of weakness and focused on crushing her windpipe as fast as possible.   
Minutes passed but it seemed that Gigi’s warding held no further surprises for him. As Granny ceased to shimmer and lowered her hands, she beheld a deathly pale ogre who rarely had this little color flowing to his skin.   
“The wards are undone, master.”  
Bee was unable to speak, though one of his heads was trying. In the end, he simply began walking towards the archway. When Granny didn’t join him, he looked back at her for a moment.  
“I will stay to ensure your privacy,” Bee nodded and headed through the door only to taste disappointment mixed into his victory.  
Among the many artifacts lining the wall, Bee passed several tomes, glowing weapons and pulsating crystals. He broke the containers and reached for the Eye and the Book. The former, he stuffed in a knapsack while he chained the latter to his belt. The other artifacts he left inside; he didn’t know how to use them or anything about them for that matter.  
“Cover our tracks,” Bee was nervous even though he had no doubt that Granny was as great a sorcerer as Bash’ir had claimed. No matter how flawless this caper was, he knew that the Council would quickly identify that the thief had to be the member who left the organization so suddenly. He only hoped that he couldn’t be tracked back on Azeroth; hoped and prayed because unless Khadgar ended up killing him, he would go back to Booty Bay.  
They hurried to escape the Council headquarters, never to return. The portal from the legion world led them right back to Dalaran, exactly where Bee wanted to be.


	19. The Final Confrontation

Chapter 19:  
“He’s been out there for almost three days.”  
“He eats conjured food and is constantly doing stretches and practicing forms like some kind of monk.”  
“The only request he made was to see you.”  
Archmage Khadgar and his colleagues were standing by a tall window on an upper floor of the Violet Citadel. The window offered a magnificent view of the Magus Commerce Exchange and Runeweaver Square. The spires of the city were beautiful in the morning sun, especially from this elevation. However, the eyes of the magi were focused on the street immediately in front of the castle steps instead of the market or the breathtaking skyline. At the bottom of the steps, they could see a hulking figure whose size didn’t become apparent from so high up until Khadgar looked at the guards and bystanders near him.  
“You didn’t tell him I’ve returned?”  
“Nope,” Modera had personally asked the ogre about his business when he arrived, “The brute expressed interest in setting up a meeting with you but said nothing besides. I could sense that he was powerful but not dangerously so. I could’ve probably evicted him if he wasn’t so peaceful and entertaining. The crowd his showmanship had drawn yesterday was even bigger than the one slowly gathering today,” However, on the morn of this third day, Modera had begun to sweat, she no longer considered the ogre peaceful or entertaining, “The guard captain recognized him, apparently he served under you on the Broken Isles.”  
“Well then I can’t deny him an audience,” Khadgar straightened his robes, “might as well see who this is.”  
“Wait,” the white-haired mage turned back to see genuine concern on Modera’s face, “he might be dangerous.”  
“You yourself said that you could evict him if you wanted to,” Khadgar’s voice had a bit of humor but Modera’s had none.  
“Three days Khadgar! I told him you were away on business and he calmly started this dance or whatever it is he’s doing,” they regarded once again the ogre who seemed to be showing off martial prowess. Khadgar was almost reminded of the pandaren who trained with similar repeated forms, fighting techniques which they practiced in slow motion which gave the impression that they were performing a complex dance. In fact, when the dance was performed at actual speeds, it was obvious that the loops, kicks and fluid body motions were actually a series of deadly attacks that were being honed. This ogre was a trained fighter, “I don’t know why he wants to see you but if his intentions were good…”  
As Modera’s voice trailed off, Khadgar looked closely at the ogre, who had now mixed magic into his kicks and punches, sending colorful flashes in many directions.   
“He’s in the heart of Dalaran, what threat could he possibly pose? I’ll see him now.”  
As Khadgar, Modera and a procession of lesser mages and guards exited the citadel, the ogre’s exercises came to a stopping point. He conjured water and drank it right out of his hands, then began stretching. When he saw the violet-clad figures walking down the steps toward him, his eyes narrowed but he kept reaching for his toes in a seated position.  
As Khadgar approached him, he suddenly recognized the ogre.   
Of course.  
Four years ago when he was first travelling from Shattrath to Dalaran, Khadgar had witnessed a curious event. This very ogre had to be restrained by his companions and if Khadgar remembered correctly, the ogre seemed to lose control when he locked eyes with him. Not much happened besides and the archmage hadn’t given it too much thought since. How did this ogre seem to know him?  
“We’ve met before, haven’t we?”  
“Indeed,” the ogre’s right spoke rather calmly, Khadgar wasn’t sure if the left was angry or if the single, gigantic eye just always looked like that. He focused on the right, “I apologize for my outburst at the portal.”  
“No need, it is I who must apologize for my tardiness, my people tell me your patience has been exceptional.”  
“Seeing you is worth the wait,” the ogre’s left had a cold voice which foreshadowed malice, “and I understand your busy schedule, archmagus. Yours are tasks that cannot wait. Mine on the other hand can wait plenty, so long as they are done.”  
Khadgar couldn’t shake the feeling of deja-vu when he looked at the awkwardly unblinking cyclopean eye of the ogre which stared him down as if he were a morsel of food, “My people tell me you served me in the war.”  
“His credentials have been confirmed by several of our own,” another of the archmages behind Khadgar spoke up before the ogre could respond. He handed Khadgar a scroll of military manifests on which he indicated some dates, “He was one of the representatives sent by the Black Harvest warlocks. He served with distinction outside the Tomb itself. We await confirmation of his identity from the Black Harvest.”  
Upon hearing this, the ogre’s right let out a short rumble of a laugh, “In vain, I have cut ties with the organization on rather...sour terms,” While the ogre’s right spoke, his left continued staring at Khadgar.   
At this point the ogre finished stretching and stood up. Like most ogres, he didn’t wear much besides a loincloth. Ogres respected size and strength, clothes that would cover their bulk were considered a sign of weakness. This particular ogre had plenty to show off. He must have stood twelve feet above the ground and Khadgar couldn’t venture to guess at his weight. His stomach was huge but by no means soft, dense musculature rippled underneath the layer of blubber.  
“How may Dalaran be of service to its former defender?”  
“I don’t need Dalaran, I only need you, archmagus.”  
At this point, Khadgar felt like he had heard enough, “Speak!” He was singularly tired of being eyed by the hungry-looking left of the giant.  
“Khadgar of Dalaran, I’m here to challenge you to a duel.”  
Upon hearing this, most of the bystanders and guards around them let out a soft chuckle. The ogre seemed unphased. The clamor of continued giggling was silenced by Modera, “We are in a more civilized place than that, ogre.”  
“What kind of duel?” Khadgar’s words shocked Modera, “Mak’gora? I hardly think I’d stand a chance.”  
“Any kind, so long as it is to the death.”  
“Khadgar you can’t possibly entertain…”  
“Let me deal with him,” Khadgar could sense something familiar about the ogre. He couldn’t recognize him but rather, the magics around the challenger seemed familiar. Intimately so, “You may want my head, ogre, but I’ve nothing to gain from taking yours.”  
“What must I wager then?”  
He honestly couldn’t think of anything, “Perhaps I’ll think of a fitting price by the end of our duel.”  
“Very well, I care not.”  
Archmage Modera could no longer contain herself and grabbed Khadgar by the shoulder to spin her colleague on his heels. When their eyes met, she was devastated by the calm determination she saw in his eyes. Despite what she beheld, she unleashed her frustration on her colleague in a desperate attempt to make him see reason. Her ranting went on for a minute or two.  
“...that you don’t even know if he wants to lead you into a trap. And a stranger with no right to make this ridiculous of a request! You needn’t entertain, nay, you can’t allow or encourage this sort of thing!” She looked up over Khadgar’s shoulder and addressed the ogre, “As I said, we are in a more civilized place than that! Dalaran thanks you for your service.”  
“On the contrary, Modera, we are not above this sort of activity,” Khadgar had made up his mind. Something had compelled this ogre to fly into a rage when he first laid eyes on Khadgar and he wanted to know what it was. He had spent many hours wondering just what might have explained the ogre’s actions at the portal and the opportunity to find out had presented itself; what’s more, with little risk as opposed to what Modera seemed to fear. He turned back to the challenger, “As it happens, our city has just the place to settle these things. Let’s go to the Underbelly.”  
WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW  
The sewers of Dalaran were crammed full of spectators hanging off the side of the rickety bleachers that had been set up around the makeshift arena. It seemed that the entire city had gotten wind of the fight which was about to happen even though archmage Modera had done everything in her power to pressure the black market bosses in the Cantrips & Crows tavern to make this happen quickly and quietly.  
Being possibly the most powerful mortal in the world was a peculiar experience, to say the least. Khadgar always felt awkward when facing down beings who ranged from dragons to massive ogres like this one, to elves and draenei who were a thousand times older than he was. In all of these cases, both parties were justifiably surprised when Khadgar proved to be leagues ahead. He aged quickly, which at least made him look more like the person people expected him to be; it was Khadgar who more often than not found himself underwhelmed by whoever he was up against.   
Awkwardness aside, he had developed a talent for gauging the magical prowess of his opponents and his colleagues were correct in saying that this ogre was no match for him. As such, he had no intention of carrying the duel through to the death as the ogre had wished. On this fine morning, he had nothing better to do than to solve the mystery behind this stranger’s connection to him and he would get his answer even if he had to put the ogre in permafrost to pull it out of him.  
As the doors to each of the contenders’ vestibules opened, Khadgar creaked his neck and walked onto the wrought iron crosshatch which kept them above the foul waters flowing out of the city. Perhaps he should've changed clothes and worn something less expensive but he cared little. The stench was overwhelming.  
His master’s staff felt good in his hands, unimaginable power flowed from its carved raven head to his fingertips.  
The ogre who was nearly naked before had now put on a considerable amount of equipment. He wore hide boots, gloves and a kilt with a large protective plate that covered his crotch and midsection. What was more interesting was that the plate bore the emblem of the Shadow Council. Khadgar recognized the orc rune from his days as a youth. Back when this organization ruled the old Horde, even Garona had worn the emblem on her clothing. The rune confused Khadgar because everything about this ogre so far had indicated that he was a mage. The all-too familiar scent of fel magic was nowhere around him. Why did the ogre-magi owe allegiance to this outdated warlock organization?   
The perplexing imagery didn’t end there. Fixed to the backside of the kilt was a banner proudly waving in the rancid sewer-wind between his two heads, the Shadowmoon emblem. Khadgar had dealt with enough ‘hordes’ to have seen it on the opposite side of battlefields in two wars.   
Who was this?   
An ogre hailing from an orc clan? A mage from an order of warlocks? As if this imagery wasn’t confusing enough, Khadgar’s familiarity with orc and ogre cultures told him that the three long braids that the ogre exhibited on his right head were a warrior tradition; not to mention his massive plates spaulders and menacing spiked shield, Khadgar swore it would not have been out of place if it were affixed to the side of a siege engine. In his other hand the ogre brandished wicked truncheon which Khadgar remembered specifically from the encounter at the dark portal. Understated green lines glowed about the gray body of the weapon and its head belched blinding white light. This was surely an artifact of power but Khadgar couldn’t give it the attention it deserved as he was more interested in the two other artifacts he saw.   
The first, he had only seen in books. Around the right neck of the ogre, there sat a necklace of large, gray orbs he had seen worn by orcs and ogres alike. The beads were each the size of Khadgar’s head and shone under the midday sun but the central one was different. Though roughly spherical, the stone had numerous angles and was much darker in color than the others. The energies given off by it were unmistakable in origin.  
There was no doubt in Khadgar’s mind. Lost for a quarter of a century, now right before his eyes, on an ogre’s necklace, hung the Eye of Dalaran. The deep purple stone’s many facets glinted in the lanternlight and although it was quite opaque, it shot rays of violet light in every direction. It was used by the mages of Dalaran as a sort of focusing lens which empowered spell channeling. The mages of the Kirin Tor had always referred to it as the most prized relic in the whole city. It had taken the Horde of Draenor no less than the aid of Deathwing himself to take it from the vaults of the Violet Citadel; it had taken Khadgar an army and a year of frenzied combat to retrieve it only to discover eighteen long years later that the Eye had never made it back to Azeroth. He couldn’t fathom how it had gotten from the satchel of the gryphon rider he had entrusted with it to the possession of this ogre, especially since the other two artifacts he had sent along with it had indeed made it to Dalaran, before being stolen again after the death of Antonaidas, whose killers sought another one of the precious relics of power.  
And this was the reason that even the Eye took a backseat in the mind of the archmagus. For as powerful as it was, the Eye’s aura was eclipsed by that of another with which Khadgar was much more personally acquainted. There, chained to the belt of the ogre, beside the plate which bore the emblem of the Shadow Council, hung the Book of Medivh.  
The trouble he had gone through to retrieve these artifacts from Draenor all those years ago. And now, here they were, ready to be used against him all over again.  
The first moments of the fight were unsurprising, both of the mages quickly muttered the incantations that would shield them from immediate dangers in their vicinity while at the same time probing their opponent’s defense for weakness. Khadgar waited for the ogre to make the first move, his opponent obliged.   
A volley of arcane missiles departed the massive fingertips and shrieked towards Khadgar. The first two harmlessly bounced off of the thin violet shield encapsulating the human while the rest began circling him menacingly. The human did not let the impending danger intimidate him and calmly took one step forward; as he did so, two other Khadgars stepped to the left and right of him and began slowly but deliberately pacing around either side of the room’s perimeter. The mirror images forced the volley of missiles which the ogre had put on standby to split between the targets. Any mage worth their salt to tell the difference between a mirror image and their true opponent but Khadgar‘s doppelgangers were of a different stock, each one was bursting with power the likes of which few mages could control at a distance.   
The ogre chose to stay focused on the central target and struck. As he stepped forward the ground shook ever so slightly and a wave of flames erupted from the ground in a line starting at his toes and advancing quickly towards Khadgar whose is left and right copies immediately summoned projectiles of rapidly expanding frost crystals and hurled them at the ogre from either side. Flashes of light erupted from both sides of the arena as the advancing fire and ice were caught and neutralized in the vicinity of the opponents.  
Khadgar noticed that while he had caught his opponent's attack in his outstretched palm, the frostbolts aimed at the ogre were physically shattered; one smashed by the eldritch mace in the giant’s left, the other crashing inches from the surface of his shield where a colorful glow had begun flickering. The shield was warded against magical attacks.   
The ogre struck again, growling as he reinvigorated the embers of the fire which smoldered in a line between him and the central Khadgar. But this time, the eruption of flames widened to attack all three figures in a wide cone which covered most of the arena floor. The three Khadgars simultaneously bolstered their defenses to nullify the heat, then quickly drew runes in the air to counter the purple bolts of light which now dove out of the air to catch their targets unawares. Although the barriers absorbed the fire and arcane, they were not reinforced against the third attack. With a wave of the truncheon, a cacophony of noise engulfed the room and sent the real Khadgar to his knees, groaning from the assault on his eardrums. He dropped his staff and instinctively put his hands to his ears while his doppelgangers continued the fight. However, having identified his quarry, the ogre wasted no time and advanced on the kneeling human to his left while blasts of energy pounded at the now brightly glowing runes floating around the shield he held with his right.  
Khadgar’s ears were ringing as he looked up to behold the giant sprinting towards him at full speed. He had only been incapacitated for a second or two and the Circle of Wills must have been over fifty yards square but the ogre’s size allowed for incredible speed. Khadgar grabbed his master’s staff from the floor just in time.  
As his fingers touched the body of Atiesh, his body shrunk and twisted, transforming into the raven that he and the Guardian were known for traveling in the guise of. The lithe body of the bird easily swooped out of the way of danger as the massive weapon of the ogre crashed into the stone where Khadgar’s body had just been. The giant’s right head turned to regard the bird and its single eye narrowed in rage as its tailfeathers were carried out of the extensive reach of his right hand, which had effortlessly lifted the black shield in an attempt to grab Khadgar.  
Having missed its target, the ogre’s right was now encircled by a slowly rotating gyroscope of runed purple rings which orbited the mystic bolt he was summoning in his palm. With a flick of his wrist, the projectile shot towards the raven, which transformed again to land on two human feet, one of which caught the shining dart mid-air and shattered it on its way down.   
Having tired of the defensive stance, Khadgar now brought his staff down on the stone floor with a loud crack which sent a looming swell of flames at his opponent. The ogre bellowed and lifted his mace from where it had struck in a long upward sweep. The approaching inferno was dispersed by another blast of noise which sounded like a foghorn and echoed through the massive channels of the sewer’s many pipelines.  
The two now faced each other and drew a couple of heavy breaths while a staring contest ensued. Khadgar asked the only question on his mind.  
“How do you know me?”  
The ogre’s right continued eyeing him hungrily as it responded, “Fitting that you should know the truth of your demise in your final hour. I am Blackheart the Younger. My master was Dentarg of Shadowmoon. You killed him in Hellfire Citadel.”  
Khadgar’s eyes narrowed while he attempted to remember, then widened when he recalled the duel with the ogre-mage. The duel followed by the encounter with the young ogre whose fate Khadgar had never had time to contemplate.  
So it was you.  
“Your master was Dentarg of Shadowmoon?”  
The ogre responded with cold silence.  
“It was you, you attacked me after I killed Dentarg.”  
“I did. In an emotional state, I threw two clumsy spells at you and they came back to hit me. Because I wanted you to stop, I was suspended in time. Because I wanted you to leave, I was sent miles from the battle.”  
“Your mentor displayed great skill and loyalty to his master. It was a pity that we were enemies in war but perhaps we can be friends in peace?”  
Bee said nothing, Khadgar continued after a moment.  
“My people tell me you served against the demons. You know that my city and I are no longer aligned with sides.”  
Bee interrupted, “Sides? Think you that I serve the Shadow Council still? The insignias represent where I come from, not who I am. I don’t want you dead because of any damned war! You killed the only family I had!”  
“Allow me to make it up to you, keep the artifacts. Join me in my city, your experience is invaluable. You could help me make sure that nobody’s family is taken from them.”  
For a second, Khadgar had though that he was close to getting through to the ogre something pulled his opponent back into the present, “A little late for that.”  
“You are in possession of items which rightfully belong to my city.”  
“I’m not the only one using souvenirs to get what I want,” the ogre’s right was noticeably more relaxed. The voice sounded less preachy and used contractions, even slang.  
“Very well. You've yet to wager something in this fight and if I can’t have your allegiance, I’ll have those artifacts.”  
“Makes me no nevermind,” the ogre’s right shrugged its corresponding shoulder while the left responded in its own way, “Witness their power then, human. Let us see if you can handle them properly.”  
With that, it seemed the chit-chat was over. Khadgar readied himself and began summoning arcane missiles which circled above the head of Atiesh, which began glowing ever brighter. As the energies gathered around him, the human’s robes began flapping in a concentrated gale which swept around his feet and tossed grey locks in front of his face.  
Across the Circle of Wills, the ogre flipped open the pages of the Book of Medivh which looked comically small in his gargantuan hands. His right began speaking in an ancient tongue as the pages of the book slowly began turning before him. Above his left forehead, glowing blue lines coalesced to form the familiar eyeball which symbolized arcana. Similar lines began glowing around his feet, curving out in all directions, then uniting in a bright circle of power which sent light steaming up towards the blue eyeball. Around his neck, the Eye of Dalaran pulsed with the power of the spell being channeled through it.  
Khadgar was barely looking at the ogre anymore, choosing instead to focus on the shifting energies of the room to guide himself as he began walking forward ever so slowly. What little he could see of the ogre through the blinding light which engulfed each of them saddened him to a certain extent. The memory of the day at the Dark Portal was vague but he could recall the rage in the young ogre’s faces. He saw that same bile now in each of his opponent’s eyes. Each of the bullnecked heads were contorted with ire. Again, the towering silhouette inside the storm of energies was outlined by swelling muscles which forced serpentine veins under the surface of his brown hide. Again, the tattoos covering his chest and arms seemed to deepen until they were nothing but a bottomless void. Again, the giant brandished his truncheon which intensified the roiling clamor surrounding the two combatants. As the weapon was pointed at Khadgar, the ogre’s left thundered the final words of the incantation and a beam of blistering light was shot towards the human.  
For all the drama of this buildup, the attack was quickly met by Khadgar’s own. The throng of swirling arcane above his staff surged forward and caught the ogre’s attack, producing a violent mass between the two towards which Khadgar continued to advance.   
Above the turbulence, he addressed his opponent again, “Did you know I met Dentarg in pursuit of these very artifacts?”  
The ogre’s right continued its low cry while the left smiled slightly and rumbled in response, “Strange, the strands of fate.”  
With that, the fighters redoubled their efforts but the ogre’s beam of magic was quickly overwhelmed and pushed back towards the attacker. Two heads roared as the fight came to a conclusion with the ogre’s immense bulk completely enveloped in the beam of violet energies streaming from the staff of the archmagus. By this time, Khadgar had walked all the way to the ogre and now reached out to interrupt the channeling of his opponent’s spell. As the head of Atiesh met the mace of the ogre, the energies around them ceased their violent churning and fused at the point where they touched, which knocked both of the weapons to the ground. Khadgar was ready for the ogre’s left hook and used magic to augment his own strength, batting the titanic fist aside with ease. He readied his own jab with a glowing left hand which smashed into the ogre’s shield, sending the seemingly immovable giant hurtling into the wall behind him. The left head recovered first, opening its cyclopean eye just in time to see the figure of Khadgar blink forward to close the distance between them. This time Khadgar’s left wrenched open the instinctive shield block. Once again, he batted the hook aside with his right and in the same motion, slammed his palm into the plate covering the ogre’s midsection. For a second time, the colossal frame flattened against the stone wall which cracked in several places. Exhausted, the challenger sunk to his knees.  
The din of the crowd was ignored by both fighters and Khadgar let a minute pass in silence between them.  
“I don’t know where you found these artifacts but obtaining them must’ve taken a lot of work, as a matter of fact I would wager that it took a lifetime of planning.”  
The ogre’s left spoke in a rather soft voice, completely bereft of the boom it had displayed before, “The plan was flawed. It was fueled by hunger for revenge, the same feeling that blinded me,” he reached over to unbuckle the shield on his left, which slowly tipped and crashed to the floor with a deafening clang. The freed right hand then lifted the necklace of massive beads and placed it on the floor between the two. He then proceeded to undo his belt and sank back on his heels, “I could never compete with you, relics notwithstanding.”  
Khadgar considered consoling the ogre by commending him on his accomplishments but decided against it. There were deeper wounds on this young sorcerer’s mind.   
“So...Dentarg of Shadowmoon huh?”   
“Yes,” unlike the left, the ogre’s right met Khadgar’s stare, “Ever since you killed my master it has been the only thing motivating me.”  
“And though you had the patience and the cautious disposition to do whatever was necessary to collect these artifacts when it came down to it you didn’t patiently wait for the opportunity to assassinate me. You didn’t use the element of surprise. You challenged me to a duel which leads me to believe that although you liked the idea of sending a mystic bolt my way, you didn’t truly want me dead.”  
The ogre sighed with both heads and contemplated each word he said next carefully, “I don’t know. I felt that confronting his killer was something I owed my master but over the past few years I also came to know that you didn’t deserve death. The whole world admires you, how could I not have heard of the great and noble deeds of Khadgar in all of these years that I’ve spent waiting to meet you in battle. I fought underneath your command in a war that no one can say you were on the wrong side of. Of course I didn’t think you deserve death and now that I think about it I’m not sure what I planned to do if I had actually bested of you. I was raised around orcs perhaps some bullshit honor required me to confront you. Perhaps I felt that I owed my master that much.”  
Khadgar appreciated the ogre’s honesty, “Do you want to know what I feel? I feel that for you to be so considerate and contemplative means that your master must surely have been the same way. I don’t know why he followed Ner’zhul,” Khadgar also slowed down to contemplate, “ Perhaps he owned him a life debt or perhaps he could not see his own master for what he was or what he had become. But I’ll not get lost in all of this speculation. It was a shame that Dentarg and I were at odds. It was a shame for things to have ended the way they did that day in Hellfire Citadel; but that these events led you would to return to me with no less than the book of my master and the treasure of my city? This must indeed be fate. Fate has led you here, not to kill me but to open my eyes about something that I never even considered. Your place is with me, all of this cannot be coincidence.”


	20. Lessons Learned

Chapter 20:  
After the third time Bee attempted knocking, Kelsey opened the door wearing nothing but a towel and his shark tooth necklace.   
“Boy! Back from your adventures already?” Kelsey stepped to the side to allow Bee to begin the awkward and embarrassing series of twists and turns that allowed the ogre to fit through a doorway made for humans. While writhing on the ground to pull his second shoulder through the creaking frame, an interior door opened and a human female ran across the living room wearing another towel.  
Bee’s left raised an eyebrow at Kelsey while his right followed the female who disappeared into the bathroom. Few homes in Booty Bay even had a bathroom. Kelsey had told Bee so very long ago that the young ogre shouldn’t expect to receive a penny from the old man’s passing. The money Kelsey made, which was below average at best, was fully invested into the comforts of this home. Entertaining women and fogging his memory with booze were the cook’s only true passions and he wanted to pursue them in a comfortable apartment for the sake of his lady-friends. The two were very different in this regard, Bee mused whether he should even pay a visit to his own boarding house where the hammock he called home hung. He decided against it.  
After he managed to squeeze through the doorway, Bee clambered up from the floor, then proceeded to sit right back down, as the floor was the only space big enough for him. He accepted the drink Kelsey offered him but set it on the table and pulled the old man in for a long embrace. Kelsey was caught off guard but he had seen vulnerability in the ogre before. Without a word, he comforted the giant and stroked his long hair which elicited a raised eyebrow from the woman peeking through a crack in the bathroom door.  
“It’s all right son. Whatever it is,” the words soothed the ogre and his deep sighs began to regulate, “you can tell me about it.”  
When Bee released him, Kelsey decided to ease into the conversation with some diversionary tactics which immediately backfired.  
“If I knew you were going to be in town I’d have called for a party to make up for those missed birthdays. We could’ve had Jang and the rest of the gang back here.”  
As soon as he mentioned Jang’s name, Bee’s faces contorted and tears which might’ve measured entire fluid ounces welled in the great eye of his left. His right was a picture of confusion and misery which tried to form words but couldn’t.  
Kelsey continued offering sympathy, “It’s all right son. Drink up, stiffen your nerves so you can talk. Whatever it is kiddo, it’s all right,” Bee’s left quickly obliged and Kelsey realized that his human-sized bottles wouldn’t last long. He got back up to reach for more and continued after a brief pause, “What brings you back home?”  
Bee finished his drink in one gulp and quickly refilled it. He then repeated the process, Kelsey took the hint and gave the ogre all the time he needed. They must have been sitting there for three or four hours. Bee talked about the Council of the Black Harvest and his adventure in Outland. He described Shattrath and the sale of Murmur’s whisper. Kelsey seemed impressed by his description of Granny and mentioned that she was good for Bee. The ogre had to agree, more than anything else in Bee’s recent years, she kept his psyche from falling apart. Stressors in Bee’s life had been mounting.   
The war was enough to trigger it all, Bee could fight but he could hardly think clearly in the face of the legion when he knew that his nemesis was in command of operations. It was all he could do to avoid another episode of face to face confrontation. To shut the horrors of the war out of his minds, he began focusing exponentially more on the archmagus. This led him to betray the Council of the Black Harvest which resulted in yet more stress. The paranoia of being hunted by both the warlocks and Bash’ir made him yearn for simpler days. This, of course made him miss Jang and Kelsey.  
Quite a few bottles got dusted off.   
“A lot has happened in four years,” the acidity of the wine was a blast from the past for Bee’s left, “and we find ourselves in a position strangely like where we had started.”  
“A little wisdom from the old man eh?”  
“If you say so,” Kelsey’s humor hadn’t broken through Bee’s despondence yet, the ogre’s heads took turns looking at the floor and the ceiling. This behavior was of course an unsuccessful attempt to both hide tears and keep them in his eyes, “We just know we can’t answer these questions ourselves.”  
“Shoot.”  
“We’ve been everywhere these past four years. We went home, really didn’t recognize any of it. Wasn’t the great soul-searching experience we expected,” his voice trailed off, he sighed and resumed, “We fought in the war, We’ve helped build a mighty organization and we even thought we fell in love.”  
“Fell in love with who?”  
“You remember Jang’s aunt?” Kelsey almost blurted wine out through his nose. He cleared his throat and placed his hands back on his knees.   
“Jang’s aunt! You love her?”  
“Apparently not, we killed her.”  
A long silence followed and Kelsey try to use this trademark humor to break up the awkwardness, “I don’t think you want to worry too much. Jang, she was convinced that she was mixed up in unscrupulous business. And she only complained about her after she took you on that so-called adventure, turned out she couldn’t stand the old bat.”  
“We still can’t tell her!” Bee’s voice had raised significantly, both faces now both looked at Kelsey, tears welled in all three eyes, “We could look her in the face, we could talk to her and we could be with her. We want her to laugh with us again. In a word, we want to lie to her. We don’t think we could…we couldn’t look her in the eyes and tell her we were party to the death of her blood!”  
This may have been a lot of information for Kelsey to process but he certainly understood love better than Bee. He had always guessed that Bee and Jang were more than friends, this time apart clearly made Bee think twice and realize just how much she meant to him.   
“But you do want to look her in the eyes again,” Kelsey wasn’t sure how he felt about Bee’s confession, but the least he could do was distract the boy from his sorrows while he was in this difficult position, “you do want her to be your friend. You could bear to do everything except own up to your actions.”   
Bee nodded.   
“Are you telling me, my son, that you are a coward?”  
“You raised no coward, father.”  
“It’s all right, boy. This isn’t your fault, it’s mine.”  
“You raised no coward, father,” Neither cowardice nor bravery were the type of qualities that either of them cared about. Bee just couldn’t see this being the explanation for his predicament,   
There has to be a deeper meaning than that!  
“I never had a choice, it is in my nature, it was bound to become a part of yours,” Bee looked puzzled, this time it was Kelsey who finished his drink in one gulp and refilled it. Having done this, he waited in silence for a moment before gulping the second drink down as well. Then a third.  
Not a word was said for the next few minutes while the two emptied a couple more bottles of wine. Bee was drinking with 2 mouths and had a belly that Kelsey could fit inside but the old man was keeping pace remarkably well. When he finally spoke his words were interrupted by hiccups and sobs.  
“You remember your first memories with me.”   
“We went, from a desert to a jungle,” Bee remembered waking up from his magical stasis and wandering the barren lands of draenor, battling hunger and the elements for so many days that he lost count.  
“What do you remember before that?”  
Bee suppressed the image of his master’s death, “A great battle with black dragons. The orcs’ citadel in a red land.”  
“This is your last memory? It is the memory of your home world,” Kelsey raised his glance from the floor to meet Bee’s through teary eyes, “I was the one at those gates. I remember the dragon crashing into the wall of the fortress,” another pause, “Do you know who was with me that day?”  
Bee couldn’t guess, but then again, he couldn’t speak either. He could barely blink.  
“The archmagus.”  
Bee’s eyes widened.  
“I was part of the expedition sent to your world to stop some evil sorcerer who led the orcs at the time. I’m not sure where you were during that battle but a few months later we finally caught up to that sorcerer right at the moment of his triumph,” Kelsey motioned as if he were to strike his armrest with his closed fist. When his hand fell however, he hesitated and his fingers opened. He began sobbing again.  
“We almost had him!”  
It all made sense now. As a child, Bee had asked Kelsey if they could go back, they could not. Everyone assumed that Kelsey had found Bee on Azeroth, where ogres had become widespread. This led Bee to many years of fruitless questioning. Nobody on Azeroth knew of a red desert with an orc citadel or a gray land surrounding a tunnel network. However, with the recent establishment of the Horde as a real political power, Booty Bay saw its fair share of orcs who told Bee all about Draenor. They gave familiar descriptions which led him to confront Kelsey, who stuck to his lies.  
“We almost had him! Khadgar told us we were too late and that the spell he cast would destroy the world. How was I supposed to react?”  
Bee’s thoughts were racing.  
“I was certain that I would face death in the cold of the Great Dark Beyond so far from home. So, so far…” Kelsey’s voice struggled, “I was 18 years old what could I have done? I stole a gryphon and I fled!”   
Another moment of silence, Bee found himself trying to make sense of his father’s lethargic period from six years prior. He had always suspected that Kelsey was the one person who knew all of his secrets and over the years the young ogre had certainly thought about Draenor and Khadgar. When the portal opened again Kelsey had been hit with a case of depression, that was when he truly began drinking habitually. A very young and unintuitive Bee had assumed that Kelsey was afraid of the young ogre’s plan to return to his home. But it was much worse.  
Kelsey could understand homesickness, hell, he had deserted his comrades for fear of never seeing home again. He also knew that the sorcerer he spoke of was about to destroy Draenor. He probably saw the sky open up and the land convulse from that gryphon. It was understandable for him to fear for Bee’s life, especially if Bee was risking it to go to a world swarming with dangers. A world that he thought he might recognize but wouldn’t.  
“When the portal opened, six years ago…”  
“Yeah that’s when I started drinkin’ all right. When I heard the world I thought was doomed had survived? And my friends?”  
Both were sobbing bitter tears. Six years ago, when Bee received exciting news that he could go back home, Kelsey received the worst news of his life.  
“My friends that I had abandoned, that they had survived as well? That at any moment, one might meet me by chance and recognize me?”  
Kelsey took a moment and lowered his voice, “I took that gryphon and I followed the archmagus across the Devouring Sea. If I made it past Nethergarde that would be enough. But the sea was a mighty span and the animal needed rest. And that’s when I found you.”  
“In the red desert,” Bee knew the rest of the story. He had awoken in the middle of Hellfire Peninsula and spent what must have been months trying to survive in the red desert. He found the southern coast where he could attempt to desalinate water the way Dentarg had taught him to when the youth proved incapable of conjuring nourishment. Nevertheless, he was on the brink of starvation when the world began shuddering from the great convulsions which tore it apart. It was at this fateful moment that Kelsey had saved him.  
The mysterious stranger had literally descended from on high to pick him up and carry him through some massive arch on downy wings. Bee could barely recall the surreal experience. After weeks of travel, they arrived in Booty Bay and had been there ever since.   
“Scared and alone. You were dying of exposure in that desert. I could tell you were a child, though anyone would’ve had the same terror on their faces if the world around them was literally falling apart. And I thought, what if? What if something good can come of my shame? What if there was just one life I could save while I left all those others for dead? The beast was tired but she could carry us through. After that, we needn’t go far, just to the coast. And then we rounded the cape and made it here.”  
“For all you knew we might’ve been dead.”  
Kelsey shrugged, “For all I knew, you were a dragon in disguise. So much had I seen those months on Draenor, I could never be sure. But I had to save something from that world. I had to redeem myself somehow in the eyes of whatever gods may be. For me to find you at that cataclysmic hour, it had to be fate. So I lugged your ass down the coast of the Blasted Lands. I brought you into this harbor and I prayed that you would grow up healthy and strong and that it would not have been in vain. You were the one life I saved and I dreaded the thought of you ending up dead as well. Son, you are a coward because you were raised by a coward. You killed your friend’s blood and can’t bring yourself to come clean? Blame me.”  
The weight lifting rom Bee’s shoulders wasn’t caused by his suddenly figuring out his own dilemma. What his old man had said put things in perspective. None of his troubles seemed like they compared to the trauma Kelsey had borne all of these years.  
The two talked and wept and snored until the following afternoon.


End file.
